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•0  E  Perm*,*** 


JOHN  KEESE, 


WIT    AND    LITTERATEUR 


A     BIOGRAPHICAL    MEMOIR. 


BY 

WILLIAM   L.    KEESE. 
II 


NEW  YORK : 
D.     APPLETON      AND      COMPANY, 

I,  3,  AND    5    BOND    STREET. 
l883. 


; 


COPYRIGHT  BY 

WILLIAM  L.  KEESE. 

1883. 


THIS    MEMOIR 

is 
LOVINGLY        INSCRIBED 

TO 

MY     MOTHER. 


942093 


PREFACE. 


MORE  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  has  passed  since 
the  death  of  the  subject  of  the  following  pages ;  and 
few,  if  any,  of  those  who  were  his  intimates  in  other 
days  are  now  living.  Yet  lively  traditions  of  him  re 
main  among  the  book-selling  fraternity,  and  it  has 
been  a  matter  of  regret  with  many  that  his  name 
does  not  appear  in  any  American  biographical  dic 
tionary. 

In  August,  1877,  the  late  Evert  A.  Duyckinck  con 
tributed  to  the  "  Magazine  of  American  History  "  an 
appreciative  and  entertaining  paper  entitled  "  Keese 
ana" — being  his  recollections  of  my  father — in  which 
he  feelingly  said  that  "  Keese  should  not  pass  out  of 
memory  with  the  recollections  of  his  many  friends  of 
the  present  fleeting  generation."  This  paper  was  sup 
plemented  in  the  same  year  by  a  brief  sketch  by  the 
present  writer,  in  the  same  periodical;  and  in  1880 
the  late  Henry  Morford  wrote  and  published,  in  the 


6  PREFACE. 

magazine  bearing  his  name,  a  sketch  of  greater  length 
entitled  "John  Keese ;  his  Intimates,"  etc.  These  vari 
ous  writings  were,  naturally,  all  more  or  less  of  a  frag- 
mentai  v  character,  and  did  not  pretend  to  an  extended 
treatment  of  their  subject. 

The  present  composition  is  prepared  with  material 
gathered  from  many  sources,  and  is  designed  to  form 
a  suitable  biographical  memoir.  Surely  a  man  whose 
life's  aim  was  the  diffusion  of  knowledge;  whose  name 
was  identified  with  many  important  literary  undertak 
ings  ;  and  whose  fame  as  an  auctioneer  was  beyond 
doubt  unique — deserves  a  record  more  enduring  than 

memory. 

W.  L.  K. 

APRIL,  1883. 


M  E  M  O  I  fr.;v 


JOHN  KEESE,  the  subject  of  the  present  memoir, 
was  born  in  the  city  of  New  York,  November  24, 
1805,  and  was  the  second  son  of  William  Keese  and 
Rebecca  Linn.  His  father  was  a  lawyer  of  reputation, 
and  his  license  of  admission  to  the  bar  (now  lying 
before  me)  bears  the  signature  of  James  Kent.  His 
mother  was  a  daughter  of  the  Rev.  William  Linn, 
D.  D.,  a  native  of  Pennsylvania,  one  of  the  most  elo 
quent  divines  of  his  time,  first  Chaplain  of  the  House 
of  Representatives  of  the  United  States,  under  the 
Constitution  of  1787,  and  celebrated  as  a  pulpit  orator 
in  New  York  during  the  last  decade  of  the  last  century. 

Mr.  Keese  had  reason  to  be  proud  of  his  grand 
fathers.  John  Keese,  the  father  of  William  Keese,  was 
also  by  profession  a  lawyer ;  became  assistant  deputy 
quartermaster-general  on  Washington's  staff,  and  was 
one  of  the  original  members  of  the  Society  of  the 
Cincinnati.  The  Rev.  William  Linn  enjoyed  the  high 
honor  of  being  chosen  to  deliver  before  the  Society  of 
the  Cincinnati  the  oration  on  the  death  of  General 
Washington,  the  effort,  as  it  is  recorded,  "  placing  him 


8  MEMOIR  OF 

notably  beyond  his  pulpit  compeers  of  that  day."  I 
view  it  in  the  light  of  a  striking  coincidence  that  one 
grandfather  should  have  been  a  listener  to  an  oration 
pronounced  by  the  other  before  the  renowned  society 
on  so  solemn  and  impressive  an  occasion ;  and  I  am 
sure  that  the  grandson  ever  proudly  cherished  such 
honored  am.e-.t--a!  ntemories. 

1  The  bright  imellii-'ence  of  Mr.  Keese  was  early 
a [tparent,  and  it  was  decided  in  family  council  to  edu 
cate  him  for  the  ministry.  At  his  father's  death,  how 
ever,  it  seemed  expedient,  if  not,  indeed,  necessary, 
that  he  should  enter  on  a  mercantile  career;  and,  on 
being  asked  his  preference  in  that  regard,  declared  it 
earnestly  for  the  book  business,  thus  revealing  that 
predilection  for  letters  which  led  him  into  the  walks 
of  literature ;  incited  him  to  persistent  self-culture ; 
gained  him  the  acquaintance  and  friendship  of  men  of 
genius;  and  proved  in  the  end  a  consolation  for  the 
loss  of  collegiate  honors. 

It  may  be  proper  to  mention  here  that  a  later 
family  conclave  decreed  that  the  eldest  brother  should 
espouse  the  Church,  and  accordingly  William  Linn 
Keese  became  a  clergyman  of  the  Episcopal  faith. 
a  devoted  follower  of  Christ,  an  eloquent  divine,  loved 
and  honored  as  a  man  and  pastor  in  the  communities 
where  he  lived  and  taught. 

About  the  year  1823,  at  the  a-c  of  eighteen,  Mr. 
Keese  entered  as  clerk  the  book  and  publishing  house 
of  Collins  &  Ilannav,  located  in  IVarl  Street;  and 
after  years  of  faithful  service  was  admitted  to  a  part- 


JOHN  KEESE.  9 

nership  (about  1836),  under  the  new  firm-name  of  Col 
lins,  Keese  &  Co.,  which  firm  continued  until  1842, 
when  it  was  dissolved  by  mutual  consent.  He  then 
formed  a  co-partnership  with  James  E.  Cooley  and 
Horatio  Hill,  in  the  book-auction  business,  under  the 
firm-name  of  Cooley,  Keese  &  Hill ;  and,  subsequently, 
through  the  retirement  of  Mr.  Hill,  Cooley  &  Keese, 
which  association  continued  to  1853  or  1854,  when 
the  firm  was  dissolved,  and  Mr.  Keese  obtained  the 
appointment  of  Appraiser  of  Books  in  the  New  York 
Custom-House,  which  position  he  filled  until  his  death, 
his  spare  evenings  being  employed,  when  health  per 
mitted,  in  his  vocation  of  auctioneer.  A  severe  bron 
chial  affection,  from  which  he  had  long  been  a  sufferer, 
was  the  precursor  to  pulmonary  consumption,  and  of 
that  malady  he  died  on  the  3Oth  of  May,  1856,  at  the 
age  of  fifty  years  and  six  months. 

He  married  in  1832  Elizabeth  Willets,  daughter  of 
Zebulon  S.  Willets.  Nine  children  were  born  to  them, 
of  whom  six  and  their  mother  are  still  living.  Three 
are  no  more.  Jonathan  Lawrence,  the  eldest  of  the 
children,  died,  in  the  flower  of  his  youth,  of  a  wound 
received  from  the  accidental  discharge  of  a  musket, 
while  a  member  of  the  Seventh  Regiment,  at  Camp 
Cameron,  in  1861;*  Willets,  the  third  child,  perished 

*  "  On  the  gth  of  May,  Private  J.  Larrie  Keese,  of  the  Eighth  Company, 
was  killed  by  the  accidental  discharge  of  a  musket.  As  this  was  the  first 
death  in  the  regiment,  and  Keese  was  a  young  man  of  excellent  business, 
social,  and  literary  abilities,  and  a  general  favorite,  gloom  was  cast  over  the 
camp.  Appropriate  resolutions  were  passed  by  his  comrades,  and  a  sergeant 
and  six  men  were  detailed  by  the  colonel  to  accompany  the  remains,  in  their 


10  ME.UOIR  OF 

by  drowning  in  1843;  and  Edmund  Willets,  the  eighth 
child,  died  in  infancy. 

Throughout  his  career,  Mr.  Keese  lost  no  opportu 
nity  for  improving  his  mind  and  adding  to  his  in 
tellectual  resources.  The  academic  education  he  had 
received  kindled  his  ambition,  while  it  left  him  with 
.il  gaze  bent  on  unexplored  regions  of  knowl 
edge;  and  he  sought  in  books  a  consolation  for  the 
university  curriculum  denied  him  by  circumstance. 
He  read  almost  omnivorously,  and  the  gift  of  a  sin 
gularly  retentive  memory  aided  essentially  in  the  pro 
cess  of  self-cultivation.  Nor  did  the  knowledge  thus 
gained  suffer  from  stagnation.  Whatever  learning  was 
his,  circulated  freely.  He  possessed  an  imaginative 
mind ;  his  perception  was  acute ;  he  was  "  witty  and 
full  of  invention " ;  his  taste  was  catholic ;  he  was 
eminently  companionable,  and  an  admirable  conver 
sationalist  ;  and  when,  subsequently,  he  was  drawn 
naturally  into  the  society  of  book-men  and  men  of 
letters,  where  there  was  no  lack  of  mental  friction, 
he  contributed  his  full  share  to  the  intellectual  com 
merce  of  the  hour.  He  loved  to  impart  whatever  he 
knew  of  interest  or  desert;  he  treasured  up  good 

metallic  coffin,  to  Brooklyn.  In  the  latter  city,  imposing  and  impressive 
funeral  ceremonies  were  held  at  Christ  Church  by  Rev.  Dr.  Can  field,  and  a 
throng  of  five  thousand  citizens  came  to  pay  the  last  rites  of  respect  to  the 
first  of  the  long  list  of  hero-martyrs  that  the  Seventh  Regiment  was  destined 
to  furnish  to  the  country.  The  cortege,  preceded  by  an  escort  of  the  National 
Guard  Reserve  Corps  and  two  platoons  of  the  Ninth  Regiment,  and  many 
military  guests,  proceeded  to  Greenwood  Cemetery,  where  Keese  was  buried 
with  military  honors."— ("  History  of  the  Seventh  Regiment,"  by  WILLIAM 
SWIKTON,  A.  M.) 


JOHX  KEESE.  n 

things  for  his  friends ;  and  his  fluent  speech  was  en 
riched  with  illustrations  born  of  his  varied  and  well- 
remembered  reading-.  In  brief,  the  arms  of  his  mental 
arsenal  were  constantly  shouldered,  aimed,  and  fired ! 
Many  a  man  of  infinitely  greater  culture  has  made 
less  of  an  impression  by  his  attainments.  He  was  not 
a  man  of  extensive  erudition ;  not  a  classical  scholar ; 
nothing  of  a  linguist.  He  knew  something  of  the 
Greek  and  Latin  authors  through  translations ;  in  the 
same  way  of  French  and  Italian  literature ;  but  there 
his  knowledge  in  that  direction  ended.  He  was,  in 
deed,  familiar  with  the  English  classics ;  with  the 
great  body  of  English  and  American  literature ;  and 
especially  with  the  poetry  of  both  countries;  but  this 
familiarity  was  due,  not  to  the  studious,  painstaking 
application  necessary  to  form  the  panoply  of  a  college 
professor,  but  to  a  loving  and  appreciative  course  of 
reading  in  hours  of  leisure.  It  was  not  his  fault  that 
his  mother-wit,  his  memory,  and  his  intellectual  readi 
ness,  combined,  unconsciously  to  himself,  to  convey  the 
impression  of  a  scholarship  greater  than  he  had  the 
good  fortune  to  possess. 

In  1832  he  was  a  member,  and  later  the  "Speaker," 
of  <4  The  Column,"  a  literary  association  then  flourish 
ing  in  the  city,*  and  numbering  on  its  roll  many 

*  The  Column  Club  still  exists,  and  dined  at  Pinard's  last  spring.  From 
an  account  of  the  dinner,  published  in  the  "  New  York  World "  the  day- 
after,  the  following  details  are  extracted  : 

"  In  the  year  1826  twenty  young  men  organized  a  debating  society  in  this 
city,  which  met  once  a  week  at  the  residence  of  some  member  of  the  society. 
The  momentous  questions  debated  were  such  that,  were  they  now  discussed 


12  MEMOIR  OF 

names  that  became  more  or  less  distinguished — such 
a^  Anthony  Robertson,  Jonathan  Nathan,  John  Gour- 
lie,  Oliver  Strong,  and  Augustus  Schcll.  A  society  so 
congenial  to  his  tastes  could  not  fail  to  develop  his 
proclivities,  while  it  afforded  a  field  for  their  exercise; 
and  it  was  here,  no  doubt,  that  his  fluency  of  speech, 
facility  of  retort,  and  sparkling  wit,  first  became  ap 
parent  as  clearly  defined  mental  characteristics ;  and 
their  recognition  speedily  advanced  him  to  the  spcak- 
ership,  and  into  gratifying  popularity. 

The  orations  and   speeches  of  famous  orators  and 

in  Congress,  the  United  States  would  be  promptly  plunged  into  war  with 
every  nation  on  earth.  Each  question  was  put  to  a  vote,  and  in  case  of  a  tie 
the  president  at  once,  by  his  casting  vote,  decided,  for  example,  '  whether 
England  was  justified  or  not  in  incarcerating  Napoleon.'  Finally,  the  de 
bates  became  so  very  animated  that  no  one  would  allow  the  club  to  meet 
in  his  private  house,  and  the  Rev.  Dr.  Lyell,  rector  of  Christ  Church,  then 
on  Anthony  Street,  now  Worth  Street,  gave  them  the  use  of  a  small  room  at 
the  back  of  the  church.  At  that  time  the  church  was  considered  to  be  almost 
out  of  town,  so  that  the  eloquent  orators  could  not  disturb  the  quiet  of  the 
city.  In  the  center  of  the  room  was  a  column  to  support  the  roof,  and,  as  the 
club  had  no  name,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Lyell  suggested  that  it  be  called  the  'Column 
Club'  until  the  last  member  passed  away.  When  the  church  was  remodeled, 
shortly  after,  Judge  Robertson  gave  the  club  the  use  of  an  attic  in  his  palatial 
residence  on  that  then  fashionable  and  aristocratic  thoroughfare,  Leonard 
Street.  The  club  was  then  nicknamed  the  '  Attic  Club.'  Judge  Robertson 
soon  found  that  he  had  made  a  very  poor  bargain,  and  drove  them  out.  In 
1828  they  secured  the  loft  of  the  old  sugar-house  which  stood  on  the  corner 
of  Broadway  and  Leonard  Street,  and  here  for  many  years  subsequently  they 
held  forth  to  their  own  great  satisfaction,  but  not  to  the  peace  of  the  Common 
wealth  of  New  York.  Among  those  who  have  been  foremost  in  the  debates, 
and  who  are  still  in  active  life  among  Os,  are  Mr.  William  M.  Evart-,  Mr. 
Hamilton  Fish,  Mr.  Augustus  Schell,  Mr.  John  Bigelow,  Mr.  Edward  S.  Van 
Winkle,  Mr.  John  II.  (iourlie,  Mr.  Parke  Godwin,  Mr.  William  M.  Tritchard, 
Mr.  (leorge  15.  Butler,  Mr.  (Jeorge  H.  Hoffman,  and  Dr.  Alonz-)  Clarke,  all 
of  \\hom  dined  last  night  at  I'inard'*,  except  Mr.  Bigelow  (who  is  abroad),  and 
talked  over  their  early  days." 


JOHN  KEESE.  !3 

statesmen  had  a  great  attraction  for  him,  and  he  was 
familiar  with  all  recorded  celebrated  rhetorical  efforts. 
Many  passages  of  eloquence  and  beauty  he  retained 
in  memory,  and  was  never  tired  of  repeating  them. 
How  well  I  remember  the  first  time  he  recited  to 
me  an  extract  from  the  speech  of  Lord  Brougham 
on  law  reform,  containing  the  famous  antitheses :  "  It 
was  the  boast  of  Augustus — it  formed  part  of  the  glare 
in  which  the  perfidies  of  his  earlier  years  were  lost — 
that  he  found  Rome  of  brick,  and  left  it  of  marble ;  a 
praise  not  unworthy  a  great  prince,  and  to  which  the 
present  reign  also  has  its  claims.  But  how  much  nobler 
will  be  the  sovereign's  boast,  when  he  shall  have  it  to 
say  that  he  found  law  dear,  and  left  it  cheap ;  found  it  a 
sealed  book — left  it  a  living  letter;  found  it  the  patri 
mony  of  the  rich — left  it  the  inheritance  of  the  poor; 
found  it  the  two-edged  sword  of  craft  and  oppression — 
left  it  the  staff  of  honesty  and  the  shield  of  innocence !  " 

Then  he  loved  to  recall  a  striking  figure  made  by 
Rufus  Choate,  in  an  oration  he  heard  him  deliver  in 
New  York,  in  which  figure  the  Empire  City,  com 
manding  tribute  from  land  and  water,  was  thus  finely 
pictured:  Drawing  himself  to  his  full  height  and  ex 
tending  both  arms,  the  orator  exclaimed,  "With  one 
hand  she  grasps  the  teeming  harvests  of  the  West,  and 
with  the  other,  like  Venice,  weds  the  everlasting  sea ! " 

Extracts  from  the  speeches  of  Chatham,  Pitt,  Burke, 
Fox,  Sheridan,  Grattan,  Erskine,  Curran,  Calhoun, 
Webster,  Clay,  he  could  repeat  at  will ;  and  the  writer 
owes  many  an  hour  of  delightful  instruction  to  ac- 


I4  MEMOIR  OF 

counts,  made  vivid  by  quotation,  of  the  efforts  of  those 
illustrious  men. 

A  little  volume  of  the  addresses  delivered  by  Dr. 
Nott,  at  Union  College,  to  the  candidates  for  the  bac 
calaureate,  was  an  especial  favorite ;  and,  as  now  I  turn 
its  leaves,  his  admiration  and  fondness  for  those  glow 
ing  and  lofty  discourses  are  remembered.  I  pause  to 
quote  the  following  passage  from  one  of  the  addresses, 
as  serving  to  indicate  the  character  of  an  eloquence 
that  so  affected  him  ;  and  one  can  fancy  how  power 
fully  swayed  must  have  been  the  doctor's  listeners  : 

"  I  have  often,  young  gentlemen,  recommended  to 
you  a  sacred  adherence  to  truth.  I  would  on  this 
occasion  repeat  the  recommendation,  that  I  may  fix  it 
the  more  indelibly  on  your  hearts.  Believe  me,  when 
I  tell  you  that  on  this  article  you  can  never  be  too 
scrupulous.  Truth  is  one  of  the  fairest  attributes  of 
Deity.  It  is  the  boundary  which  separates  vice  from 
virtue — the  line  which  divides  heaven  from  hell.  It 
is  the  chain  which  binds  the  man  of  integrity  to  the 
throne  of  God,  and,  like  the  God  to  whose  throne  it 
binds  him,  till  this  chain  is  dissolved,  his  word  may 
be  relied  on.  Suspended  on  this,  your  property,  your 
reputation,  your  life,  are  safe.  But  against  the  malice 
of  a  liar  there  is  no  security.  He  can  be  bound  by 
nothing.  His  soul  is  already  repulsed  to  an  immeas 
urable  distance  from  that  Divinitv  a  sense  of  whose 
presence  is  the  security  of  virtue.  IK-  has  sundered 
the  last  of  those  moral  ligaments  which  bind  a  mortal 
to  his  duty.  And  having  done  so,  through  the  t  \- 


JOHN  KEESE.  15 

tended  region  of  fraud  and  falsehood,  without  a  bond 
to  check  or  a  limit  to  confine  him,  he  ranges,  the 
dreaded  enemy  of  innocence ;  whose  lips  pollute  even 
truth  itself  as  it  passes  through  them,  and  whose  breath, 
like  the  pestilential  mists  of  hades,  blasts,  and  soils, 
and  poisons  as  it  touches." 

He  greatly  admired  the  speeches  made  by  Kossuth, 
during  his  visit  as  the  guest  of  the  nation  in  1851  ;  and 
I  seem  to  hear  his  enthusiastic  praise  of  the  patriot's 
eloquence,  so  clear  is  the  recollection  of  how  it  stirred 
and  impressed  him. 

As  in  those  of  prose,  Mr.  Keese  was  as  rich  in 
treasures  of  poetry.  His  memory  was  stored  with 
gems  of  verse,  easily  summoned  to  embellish  a  speech, 
to  supply  a  poetic  image,  to  furnish  an  instance  of 
beauty,  and  to  entertain.* 

He  was  fond  of  reciting  to  his  children,  and  I  well 
remember  the  effect  produced  by  his  recitation  in  the 
family  circle  one  evening  of  Byron's  "  Prisoner  of  Chil- 


*  The  late  Mr.  Henry  Morford,  in  an  appreciative  sketch  published  in 
1880,  refers  as  follows  to  Mr.  Keese's  entertaining  versatility :  "  Not  second 
even  to  Mr.  Keese's  wit,  in  the  ordinary  understanding  of  that  word,  was  his 
really  wondrous  talent  for  improvisation.  At  no  time  did  it  seem  difficult  for 
him  to  take  up  magazine  or  newspaper,  and  read  from  it  a  page  or  column, 
not  one  word  of  which  existed  in  print,  and  yet  so  perfect  in  composition  that 
no  one  could  fail  to  be  deceived  until  after-examination  of  the  sheet  showed 
the  trick  ;  and  what  could  go  nearer  to  the  very  highest  honors  claimed  for 
the  Italian  i mprovi satores  ?  His  reading  aloud  was  almost  as  marvelous  as 
the  last  accomplishments  named.  Nearly  forty  years  have  not  dimmed, 
in  the  mind  of  the  writer,  the  recollection  of  having  first  heard  him  read 
Longfellow's  '  Skeleton  in  Armor,'  then  just  published,  the  '  Ancient  Mari 
ner,'  '  Christabel,'  and  some  of  the  finer  passages  of  Shelley,  Scott,  Byron, 
and  others  of  the  English  classics." 


1 6  MEMOIR  OF 

Ion" — our  first  acquaintance  with  that  fascinating  poem. 

All  through — the  description  of  the  brothers;  the   one 

whose 

"...  soul  wrs  of  that  mold 
Which  in  a  palace  had  grown  cold, 
Had  his  free  breathing  been  denied 
The  range  of  the  steep  mountain's  side" — 

and  he 

" .  .  .  the  favorite  and  the  flower, 
Most  cherished  since  his  natal  hour, 
His  mother's  image  in  fair  face, 
The  infant  love  of  all  his  race  " — 

their  death,  and  the  last  brother's  agony  and  swoon — 
the  lovely  bird  that  came  to  his  grated  window — the 
slow-dragging  years: 

"At  last  men  came  to  set  me  free, 
I  asked  not  why,  and  recked  not  where  ; 
It  was  at  length  the  same  to  me, 
Fettered  or  fetterless  to  be — 
I  learned  to  love  despair  " — 

all  this,  the  pathos  and  eloquence  of  the  narrative, 
affected  us  in  no  small  degree,  and  many  succeeding 
weeks  found  me  engaged  in  committing  the  poem  to 
memory. 

There  was  another  poem  he  used  to  recite  to  us, 
and  we  shall  never  forget  tin-  effect  it  produced.  It 
was  the  story  of  a  poor,  half-witted  boy,  who  lived 
alone  with  his  mother,  a  widow.  She  died,  and  he 


JOHN  KEESE.  ij 

followed  silently  when  she  was  borne  to  the  grave. 
Left  there,  and  incapable  of  realizing  the  fact  of  death, 
he  opens  the  grave,  bears  home  the  corse,  kindles 
anew  the  fire,  and  endeavors  to  reanimate  the  lifeless 
form.  This  poem  we  often  listened  to,  and  I  once 
wrote  it  down  from  memory ;  but  was  never  sure  of 
my  recollection.  I  could  never  find  it  in  any  book  of 
selections,  and  never  knew  who  was  the  author.  Some 
years  ago,  I  encountered  it  for  the  first  time  in  print, 
in  Forney's  "  Anecdotes  of  Public  Men,"  as  having 
been  recited  by  Edwin  Forrest  with  surpassing  effect 
at  a  gathering  of  friends  in  Mr.  Forney's  rooms  at 
Washington,  some  time  between  the  years  1860  and 
1871.  Mr.  Forney  says,  in  alluding  to  Forrest's  splen 
did  contribution  to  the  evening's  entertainment,  u  But 
nothing  that  he  did  will  be  remembered  longer  than 
the  manner  in  which  he  recited  *  The  Idiot  Boy,'  a 
production  up  to  that  time  unknown  to  everybody 
in  the  room  except  Forrest  and  myself,  and  to  me 
only  because  I  heard  him  repeat  it  seven  years  be 
fore." 

Forney,  having  heard  Forrest  repeat  it  seven  years 
prior  to  the  occasion  quoted  (probably  1861),  would 
make  his  knowledge  of  it  date  from  1854;  but  I  re 
member  hearing  the  poem  from  my  father  long  before 
that,  so  it  was  not  unknown  to  him.  And  now,  since 
so  much  has  been  said  about  a  composition  that  cer 
tainly  was  distinguished  by  association,  it  may  be  of 
interest  to  our  readers  to  see  it  for  themselves.  I 
copy  the  verses  as  given  by  Colonel  Forney : 


MEMOIR  OF 

THE    IDIOT   BOY. 

IT  had  pleased  God  to  form  poor  Ned 

A  thing  of  idiot  mind, 
Yet,  to  the  poor,  unreasoning  boy, 

God  had  not  been  unkind. 

Old  Sarah  loved  her  helpless  child, 
Whom  helplessness  made  dear  ; 

And  he  was  everything  to  her, 
Who  knew  no  hope  or  fear. 

She  knew  his  wants,  she  understood 

Each  half-articulate  call, 
For  he  was  everything  to  her, 

And  she  to  him  was  all. 

And  so  for  many  a  year  they  lived, 

Nor  knew  a  wish  beside  ; 
But  age  at  last  on  Sarah  came, 

And  she  fell  sick— and  died. 

He  tried  in  vain  to  waken  her, 
He  called  her  o'er  and  o'er ; 

And,  when  they  told  him  she  was  dead, 
The  words  no  import  bore. 

They  closed  her  eyes  and  shrouded  her, 
While  he  stood  wondering  by, 

And,  when  they  bore  her  to  the  grave, 
He  followed  silently. 


JOHN  KEESE. 

They  laid  her  in  the  narrow  house, 
They  sang  the  funeral  stave  ; 

And,  when  the  funeral  train  dispersed, 
He  lingered  by  that  grave. 

The  rabble  boys,  that  used  to  jeer 
Whene'er  they  saw  poor  Ned, 

Now  stood  and  watched  him  by  the  grave, 
And  not  a  word  they  said. 

They  came  and  went  and  came  again, 

Till  night  at  last  came  on  ; 
Yet  still  he  lingered  by  the  grave 

Till  every  one  had  gone. 

And  when  he  found  himself  alone, 

He  swift  removed  the  clay ; 
Then  raised  the  coffin  up  in  haste, 

And  bore  it  swift  away. 

He  bore  it  to  his  mother's  cot, 

And  laid  it  on  the  floor, 
And  with  the  eagerness  of  joy 

He  barred  the  cottage  door. 

Then  out  he  took  his  mother's  corpse, 

And  placed  it  in  a  chair; 
And  soon  he  heaped  the  'hearth  and  made 

The  kindling  fire  with  care. 

He  had  put  his  mother  in  her  chair, 

And  in  its  wonted  place, 
And  then  he  blew  the  fire,  which  shone, 

Reflected  in  her  face. 


20  MEMOIR  OF 

And,  pausing  now,  her  hand  would  feel, 

And  then  her  face  behold  : 
"//7/y,  mother,  do  you  look  so  pale, 

And  why  are  you  so  cold  ? " 

It  had  pleased  God  from  the  poor  wretch 

His  only  friend  to  call ; 
Yet  God  was  kind  to  him,  and  soon 

In  death  restored  him  all. 

I  have  preserved  a  record  of  a  booksellers'  dinner— 
a  "  complimentary  entertainment  by  the  booksellers  of 
New  York  to  authors  and  other  literary  and  distin 
guished  men  " — given  at  the  City  Hotel,  March  30,  1837. 
This  was  over  forty-five  years  ago,  and  few,  if  any,  in 
deed,  of  the  company  then  met  are  now  living.  Yet 
there  may  be  descendants  of  some  of  them  who  will  feel 
an  interest  in  a  scene  where  names  familiar  and  dear  to 
them  appear. 

David  Felt  presided  on  the  occasion,  assisted  by 
Fletcher  Harper  and  others  as  vice-presidents ;  George 
Dearborn,  a  well-known  publisher,  officiated  as  master- 
of-ceremonies,  and  Mr.  Kecse  as  toast-master.  He  had 
then  been  of  the  firm  of  Collins,  Keese  &  Co.  for  more 
than  a  year,  and  his  genial  qualities  had  gained  him 
many  friends  among  the  booksellers  and  publishers  of 
New  York  and  elsewhere. 

Among  the  entertainers  and  guests  were  Albert 
Gallatin,  Chancellor  Kent,  Colonel  Trumbull,  Washing 
ton  Irving,  William  Cullcn  Bryant,  Fitz-Greene  Ilalleck, 
Rev.  Orville  Dewey,  James  K.  Paulding,  William  L. 


JOHN  KEESE.  21 

Stone,  Harrison  Gray,  James  Harper,  Charles  King, 
Major  Noah,  Philip  Hone,  John  W.  Francis,  Lewis  Gay- 
lord  Clark,  George  P.  Morris,  Edgar  A.  Poe,  Richard 
Adams  Locke,  George  P.  Putnam,  Henry  Inman,  J.  G. 
Chapman,  and  many  others. 

The  opening  address,  previous  to  introducing  the 
regular  toasts,  was  delivered  by  Mr.  Keese ;  and,  in  the 
course  of  it,  he  spoke  with  much  feeling  of  the  occasion 
which  had  brought  them  together,  and  of  the  fraternal 
relation  between  author  and  publisher,  which  it  was  de 
signed  to  foster  and  maintain  for  mutual  benefit.  Glanc 
ing  at  the  progress  of  American  literature,  and  viewing 
the  animating  prospect  of  the  future,  he  said :  "  When 
we  survey  the  geographical  position  of  these  United 
States — when  we  behold  our  vast  region  bounded  by  no 
diversity  of  language,  and  all  its  borders  teeming  with  a 
reading  community — we  discover  a  wide  field  for  the 
transmission  of  the  literature  of  our  countrymen.  No 
nation  on  the  face  of  the  earth  displays  such  peculiar 
advantages  for  the  circulation  and  consumption  of  intel 
lectual  produce." 

The  following  extract,  in  which  Cooper,  Kent,  Irv 
ing,  and  HaUeck  were  happily  alluded  to,  was  received 
with  enthusiasm :  "  Sir,  it  is  a  well-known  fact  that  the 
publishers  in  our  principal  cities  have  justly  and  mu 
nificently  appreciated  the  intellect  of  our  land,  and  her 
sons  have  shared  largely  with  the  bookseller  in  the 
profits  derived  from  their  literary  labors.  The  histori 
cal  and  creative  genius  of  one  who  is  not  inaptly  termed 
'  our  pioneer  of  mind';  the  commentaries  of  our  Ameri- 


22  MEMOIR  OF 

can  Blackstone ;  the  splendid  sketches  of  our  own  par. 
ticular  son  (who,  greeted  with  the  incense  of  foreign 
praise,  has  brought  back  to  us  a  heart  untraveled  and  a 
love  for  home),  together  with  the  works  of  gifted  minds 
in  every  department  of  science,  poesy,  and  fiction,  all 
attest  the  liberality  and  enterprise  of  American  publish 
ers.  We  desire  still  further  to  explore  the  mind  where 
mental  ore  lies  buried,  to  awaken  slumbering  genius, 
and  to  call  into  active  exercise  the  dormant  energy  and 
shrinking  talent  of  our  young  and  much-loved  land. 
Why  sleeps  the  Muse  of  Drake's  twin-brother  bard? 
Whv  comes  not  he  forth  with  fairy  wand  to  silence  the 
scribblers  of  the  day  ?  Who  among  us  would  not  es 
teem  it  a  high  honor  to  be  his  publisher,  and  to  issue  his 
beautiful  creations  in  a  guise  as  beautiful  as  the  taste  of 
our  best  artisans  can  exhibit  ?  "  * 

The  speech  of  the  evening,  in  weight  and  impor 
tance,  was  delivered  by  William  L.  Stone,  then  senior 
of  the  editorial  corps  in  New  York  city,  in  response  to 
the  toast  of  "The  periodical  press."  It  was  noteworthy 
for  its  wealth  of  statistical  information  respecting  book- 
publication,  as  well  as  for  its  vigorous  and  felicitous  dic 
tion.  A  vein  of  scholarly  erudition  ran  through  it, 
and  occasional  touches  of  sprightly  and  fanciful  humor 
saved  it  from  any  approach  to  prosiness. 

There  were  speeches  by  Harrison  Gray,  James  Har 
per,  Charles  King,  Major  Noah,  Matthew  L.  Davis, 

*  Three  years  later,  Mr.  Keese  made  good  his  wish  to  present  the  pro 
ductions  of  American  mind,  by  the  issue  of  his  "  Poets  of  America,"  "  in  a 
guise  as  beautiful  "  as  the  compilation  deserved. 


JOHN  KEESE.  23 

Chancellor  Kent,  Philip  Hone,  John  W.  Francis,  Wash 
ington  Irving,  and  James  K.  Paulding. 

It  may  amuse  a  later  generation  of  Franklin  Square 
publishers  to  read  the  pleasant  little  speech  made  by  one 
of  their  ancestors ;  and  I  hope  they  will  enjoy  it  as  much 
as  his  listeners  did  in  1837.  In  response  to  the  toast, 
"  The  booksellers  of  New  York,"  Mr.  James  Harper, 
being  long  and  loudly  called  for,  finally  rose  and  ob 
served :  That  he  was  at  a  loss  to  know  why  he 
should  be  singled  out  to  respond  to  the  compliment,  as 
there  were  many  of  the  trade  present  greatly  his  sen 
iors.  Besides,  it  was  well  known  to  his  brethren  that  he 
was  no  orator — that  it  was  entirely  out  of  his  line  to 
make  speeches  —  that  he  was  simply  a  humble  maker  of 
books,  and  that  this  alone  was  his  profession.  Therefore, 
although  the  subject  and  the  occasion  were  of  a  highly 
prolific  character,  still  he  should  not  attempt  a  speech 
on  the  occasion — for,  if  he  should,  he  would  assuredly 
find  himself  in  the  dilemma  of  a  certain  Massachusetts 
orator,  who,  while  addressing  a  public  assembly,  unfor 
tunately  lost  the  thread  of  his  discourse,  and,  hesitating 
to  recover  his  lost  ideas,  was  addressed  from  the  gallery 
by  a  raw  country  lad,  "/  say,  Mister,  I  guess  you're  stuck" 
"And,  Mr.  President  "  (added  Mr.  Harper,  after  a  pause), 
"so  am  I!" 

Matthew  L.  Davis,  in  the  course  of  a  few  remarks, 
said  that  being  one  of  the  oldest  of  those  present  who 
had  been  engaged  in  the  manufacture  of  books,  he  recol 
lected  some  interesting  facts  in  the  progress  of  the  art ; 
and  mentioned  as  a  remarkable  contrast  to  its  extent  at 


24  MEMOIR  OF 

that  day,  that  about  twenty  years  back,  when  an  edition 
of  Brown's  "Commentary  on  the  Bible"  was  projected 
in  New  York,  the  Legislature  of  the  State  passed,  in  both 
branches,  a  resolution  recommending  public  patronage 
to  the  immense  undertaking. 

The  speech  of  Dr.  Francis  called  forth  the  warmest 
plaudits.  It  was  full  of  humorous  suggestion,  and  emi 
nently  characteristic  of  the  man. 

Washington  Irving,  in  proposing  the  health  of  Sam 
uel  Rogers,  the  banker-poet,  referred  to  a  letter  he  had 
received  the  previous  day  from  Mr.  Rogers,  acknowl 
edging  the  receipt  of  a  volume  of  Halleck's  poems,  and 
speaking  of  them  in  the  highest  terms.  Of  "  Marco 
Bozzaris  "  and  "  Alnwick  Castle,"  "  They  are  better  than 
anything  we  can  do  just  now  on  our  side  of  the  Atlan 
tic,"  said  Rogers. 

Letters  were  read  from  Fenimore  Cooper,  Nicholas 
Biddle,  Edward  Everett,  Daniel  Webster,  Noah  Web 
ster,  Gulian  C.  Verplanck,  and  many  others. 

Some  of  the  toasts  and  sentiments  were  as  follow : 

From  Noah  Webster :  "  May  booksellers  honorably 
rival  each  other  in  the  sale  of  good  books,  and  may  good 
books  find  or  make  <;ood  readers  and  good  citizens  !  " 

From  N.  P.  Willis:  "The  republic  of  letters  — in 
which  all  who  speak  the  same  language  are  com 
patriots,  and  should  reciprocate  protection  and  kind 
feeling." 

By  Lewis  Gaylord  Clark:  "Protection  to  home 
manufactures,  whether  of  the  hands  or  of  the  intellect." 

By    Edgar   A.    Poe :    "  The  monthlies  of  Gotham— 


JOHN  KEESE.  25 

their  distinguished  editors  and  their  vigorous  collabora 
tors." 

By  Fletcher  Harper :  "  Booksellers — generous  indi 
viduals,  who  kindly  assist  authors  to  obtain  an  immor 
tality  in  which  they  themselves  do  not  participate." 

By  George  P.  Putnam  :  "  The  female  intellects  of 
our  country  —  brilliant  luminaries  in  its  literary  hori 
zon." 

By  John  Keese :  "  The  memory  of  Cadmus,  the  first 
postboy.  He  carried  letters  from  Phoenicia  to  Greece." 

Such  was  the  occasion,  interesting  and  memorable  for 
those  who  participated  in  it  so  long  ago,  and  it  seems  an 
old  story  to  revive  and  print  in  this  present  year  of 
grace.  Yet  there  is  a  charm  in  any  record  of  the  past 
which  bears  the  names  of  those  who  dying  left  an 
honored  memory,  or  a  rich  legacy  in  their  works ;  and 
as  the  gatherings  of  authors  and  men  of  letters  have 
yielded  haunting  pages  of  literary  history,  so  may  this 
"  Booksellers'  Dinner "  prove  a  welcome  leaf,  though 
pressed  for  so  many  years. 

I  confess,  however,  at  the  same  time,  to  a  wish  to 
show  the  society  and  association  enjoyed  by  Mr.  Keese 
at  this  period,  and  to  hint  at  the  advantages  and  oppor 
tunities  offered  by  such  acquaintance  and  connections 
for  social  and  commercial  advancement.  He  profited 
greatly  thereby ;  and  that  he  was  not  unworthy  of  the 
friendships  then  begun,  the  continuance  of  the  relation 
in  sympathy  and  regard  for  long  years  thereafter  suffi 
ciently  assures  me. 

Mr.  Keese   was   a  genuine   Gothamite.      He   loved 


26  MEMOIR  OF 

New  York  as  Sydney  Smith  loved  London.  It  was  the 
field  par  excellence  for  the  development  of  social  instinct, 
for  intellectual  expansion,  and  for  interchange  of  ideas. 
The  city's  march  in  improvement  and  extent  he  watched 
with  constant  interest,  and  in  her  growing  greatness  felt 
a  becoming  pride.  Yet  his  "  down-town "  apprentice 
ship  had  familiarized  him  with  the  old  landmarks,  and 
their  effacement,  consequent  upon  metropolitan  advance, 
tinged  his  pride  with  regret  at  the  loss  of  historic  sig 
nificance.  I  now  recall  how  at  a  later  date,  when  the 
question  of  opening  a  street  through  Trinity  Church 
yard  was  agitated,  this  feeling  found  expression  in  the 
following  lines  from  a  poem  of  local  character,  written 
for  a  literary  society  in  which  he  was  interested : 

"  The  ancient  grave-yard  where  our  fathers  sleep, 
Thus  far's  resisted  innovation's  sweep  ; 
But  sacrilegious  hands  would  fain  deface 
The  sacred  soil  that  marks  their  resting-place. 
The  untutored  Indian  lingers  by  the  mound  ; 
His  father's  grave  is  consecrated  ground  ; 
And  where  old  Trinity  its  grandeur  rears, 
Lies  holy  dust,  hallowed  by  many  tears. 
Here  sleeps  the  SAILOR  from  whose  dying  lip 
Fell  words  immortal — *  DON'T  GIVE  UP  THE  SHIP  ! ' 
The  dust  of  HAMILTON  reposes  near  ; 
New  York's  gray  veterans  are  buried  here  ; 
Statesmen  and  warriors,  holy  men  of  God, 
Manhattan's  matrons,  sleep  beneath  that  sod. 
Genius  has  hallowed  many  a  moldering  stone  ; 
Here  slept  the  patriot  when  his  work  was  done  ; 


JOHN  KEESE.  27 

Many  lie  here  who  welcomed  freedom's  birth — 

Oh,  spare  their  graves  ! — 'tis  consecrated  earth  ; 

Sacred  from  aught,  save  where  the  evening  breeze 

Sighs  a  sad  requiem  through  swaying  trees  ; 

Sacred  from  sound,  save  where  the  deep-toned  bell 

O'er  clustering  graves  repeats  their  funeral-knell, 

Or  calls  the  living  to  those  early  times 

When  those  who  rest  there  listened  to  those  chimes. 

Oh,  let  not  Mammon's  specious  hands  improve 

A  soil  embalmed  with  tears  of  faith  and  love  ! 

Let  the  world  see  that  here  there  are  some  spots 

Too  sacred  and  too  dear  for 'building-lots.' 

Let  Speculation  take  another  range, 

Nor  sell  our  fathers'  bones  at  the  Exchange  !  " 

Mr.  Keese  was  passionately  fond  of  the  drama,  and 
witnessed  the  acting  of  all  the  great  artists  of  his  time. 
In  early  days,  when  clerking  it  on  a  modest  salary,  he 
often  dispensed  with  a  meal  that  he  might  have  the 
wherewithal  to  buy  a  seat  in  the  pit  of  the  Old  Park, 
during  the  engagement  of  Edmund  Kean  on  his  second 
visit  to  America  in  1825.  All  the  renowned  actors 
whose  names  are  associated  with  the  "palmy  days"  of 
that  famous  theatre,  he  saw,  and  his  recollections  of 
their  performances  were  vivid  and  interesting.  He 
possessed  a  no  small  degree  of  mimetic  power,  and 
often  entertained  a  social  circle  with  imitations  of 
celebrated  actors,  simulating  voice,  gesture,  and  method 
with  surprising  accuracy.  A  favorite  effort  was  the 
tent-scene  in  "Richard  III/'  after  the  manner  of  Kean, 
and  it  was  thought  to  be  a  close  approach  to  the  style 


28  MEMOIR  OF 

of  the  great  tragedian.  His  admiration  for  Kean  was 
boundless,  and  he  was  never  tired  of  talking  about  him, 
and  of  describing  the  impression  his  acting  produced 
on  himself  and  others.  He  declared  that  he  was  so 
affected  by  the  curse  in  Lear,  that  Kean's  countenance 
-his  trembling,  imprecatory  hands  —  for  days  after, 
were  constantly  before  his  eyes  like  a  vision. 

An  instance  of  the  imitative  faculty  spoken  of  created 
an  amusing  scene  in  the  auction-room  one  evening,  and 
I  will  introduce  it  here.  The  incident  is  related  by 
Laurence  Hutton,  in  his  volume  of  "  Plays  and  Players," 
and  I  give  it  in  his  own  words  : 

"  Of  John  Keese,  a  well-known  auctioneer  in  New 
York  during  the  past  generation,  the  following  auction- 
room  story  is  still  told :  At  a  book-sale  here  during  the 
first  great  '  Hunchback  '  excitement,  while  the  Kembles 
were  nightly  appearing  in  the  play,  Mr.  Keese  knocked 
down  two  volumes  to  the  bid  of  a  mild  little  gentleman, 
who,  upon  being  asked  his  name,  replied  faintly  and 
frightenedly,  'Clifford!'  Immediately  striking  the  fa 
miliar  attitude,  Mr.  Keese  exclaimed,  '  Tis  Clifford's 
voice,  if  ever  Clifford  spoke!'  and,  after  the  storm  of 
laughter  which  followed  had  subsided,  and  as  the  quiet 
gentleman,  very  much  disconcerted,  was  hurrying  from 
the  room,  he  added,  with  all  the  pathetic  intensity  of 
Miss  Kemble  herself,  'Clifford,  why  dont  you  speak  to 
me- 

"  The  sale  was  interrupted  for  many  minutes.  There- 
was,  perhaps,  hardly  a  man  in  the  room  who  was  not 
as  familiar  with  the  tone  and  style  of  Miss  Kemble,  and 


JOHN  KEESE.  29 

with  that  particular  scene  in  the  play,  as  was  Mr.  Keese ; 
and  the  applause  he  received  was  as  hearty  as  ever  en 
couraged  the  best  Julia  on  the  professional  stage.  Clif 
ford  never  called  to  claim  his  books." 

Mr.  Keese  would  have  made  an  excellent  actor ;  and 
his  dramatic  aptitude  and  fondness  for  the  stage  led 
him  sometimes  to  take  part  in  private  theatricals.  One 
of  those  occasions  may  be  briefly  referred  to.  It  was 
when  an  amateur  representation  of  "  The  Rivals  "  was 
given,  forty  years  ago,  at  New  Brighton,  Staten  Island 
— then  the  city's  most  fashionable  summer  resort — by 
ladies  and  gentlemen  of  New  York  society,  or,  to  borrow 
the  phrase  of  the  newspaper  report,  "  by  the  fair  daugh 
ters  and  wits  of  Gotham." 

Private  theatricals  at  that  time  were  something  of  a 
novelty,  and  it  was  well  known  that  unusual  prepara 
tions  had  been  made  to  present  the  comedy  with  becom 
ing  and  artistic  fitness.  The  progress  of  rehearsal  had 
kindled  anticipation,  and  the  gay  party  at  "  The  Pavil 
ion  "  were  in  a  flutter  of  excitement  and  delight  at  what 
promised  to  be  in  all  respects  the  crowning  event  of  the 
season. 

At  last  the  evening  came,  and  with  it  a  goodly  host 
of  friends  and  acquaintances  from  the  metropolis.  The 
spacious  saloon  of  "  The  Pavilion  "  had  been  prepared 
and  dressed  for  the  occasion,  and  exhibited  to  the  admir 
ing  audience  a  bewitching  scene  of  refined  and  elegant 
adornment.  Music,  light,  and  fragrance  contributed  to 
augment  the  charm. 

The  affair  was  a  complete  success,  and  elicited  enthu- 


30  MEMOIR  OF 

siastic  plaudits.  I  can  not  vouch  for  the  acting,  but  it 
was  reported  to  have  been  excellent  at  all  points.  It  is 
to  be  hoped  that  it  was  so,  since  the  late  Henry  Placide, 
that  rare  comedian,  was  among  the  attentive  auditors. 

"  At  the  fall  of  the  curtain,"  says  a  record  of  the  en 
tertainment,  "the  audience,  consisting  of  nearly  five 
hundred  persons,  composed  of  the  wealth,  fashion,  and 
beauty  of  New  York,  'called  out'  the  performers,  who 
bowed  their  acknowledgments.  Sir  Lucius  O '  Trigger  (Mr. 
Keese),  however,  was  called  on  for  a  speech,  and  accord 
ingly  made  the  following  appropriate  remarks  :  '  On  my 
conscience,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  appear  before  you 
with  more  than  my  usual  modest  diffidence ;  for,  although 
I  see  around  me  roses  and  tulips,  blooming  in  parterres, 
we  can  boast  too  of  one  "  sweet  Dalia"  behind  the  cur 
tain,  that,  by  my  own  blushes,  would  rival  the  brightest 
carnation  among  you.  Most  gratefully  do  I  thank  you, 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  for  the  kind  countenance  and 
patient  attention  you  have  given  to  our  amateur  efforts 
this  evening ;  and,  although  we  have  not  been  entirely 
"  absolute  "  in  our  perfection,  nor  perhaps  merited  the 
kindness  and  consideration  of  such  "acres"  of  friends, 
on  my  faith,  we  will  never  cease  to  be  "  Rivals." 

He  never  lost  his  interest  in  the  drama  ;  and,  indeed, 
it  was  given  a  new  lease  of  life  when,  aftrr  William  E. 
Burton  established  himself  in  Chambers  Street,  he  be 
came  acquainted  with  that  great  actor.  His  old-time 
friend,  the  late  lamented  James  T.  Fields,  in  his  pathetic 
sketch  of  reminiscence,*  bore  him  thus  in  memory: 

*  "Then."     "  Harper's  Magazine,"  August,  1881. 


JOHN  KEESE.  31 

"Then  John  Keese,  good-natured,  merry  soul,  intro 
duced  us  to  Mr.  Manager  Mitchell  and  pretty  Mary 
Taylor,  behind  the  scenes  at  the  small  Olympic." 

I  now  come  to  an  important  period  in  my  father's 
career — that  of  editorship.  It  has  been  said  that  he  was 
an  ardent  lover  of  poetry.  The  English  poets  he  had 
read  and  was  familiar  with,  and  many  of  them  had  been 
subjects  of  diligent  and  appreciative  study.  His  tena 
cious  memory  garnered  as  he  read,  and  to  the  end  of  his 
life  those  rich  resources  were  his  to  draw  upon  at  any 
moment.  And  now  a  warm  interest  in  the  progress  of 
American  poetry  awoke  within  him,  and  a  survey  of  the 
garden  of  native  song  allured  him  to  the  loving  task  of 
gathering  a  garland  of  its  flowers. 

The  first  volume  of  the  "  Poets  of  America  "  was  pub 
lished  in  1840.  Edgar  A.  Poe,  who,  whatever  may  have 
been  his  faults  in  a  critical  capacity,  and  despite  his  ran 
corous  tendency,  was  certainly  competent  to  pass  upon 
such  a  work,  says,  in  his  review  of  "  Mr.  Griswold  and 
the  Poets,"  after  noticing  the  respective  collections  of 
Kettell,  Cheever,  Morris,  and  Bryant :  "  Mr.  Keese  suc 
ceeded  much  better.  He  brought  to  his  task,  if  not  the 
most  rigorous  impartiality,  at  least  a  fine  taste,  a  sound 
judgment,  and  a  more  thorough  acquaintance  with  our 
poetical  literature  than  had  distinguished  either  of  his 
predecessors." 

The  lack  of  "  rigorous  impartiality  "  may  have  been 
owing  to  the  fact  that  many  of  the  writers  whose  names 
gave  luster  to  the  volume  were  held  in  personal  esteem  ; 


32  MEMOIR  OF 

and  friendly  feeling,  possibly,  in  a  measure  swayed  the 
judgment;  but,  in  any  view,  the  compilation  was  really 
the  first  repository  that  could  lay  claim  to  being  dis 
tinctly  representative  of  native  poetry,  presented  in  an 
attractive  form.  "  American  poetry,"  says  the  editor's 
preface,  "  has  hitherto  been  little  more  than  a  happy 
accident,  and  seems  to  have  arisen  in  spite  of  the  prac 
tical  tendencies  of  our  country  and  the  prosaic  character 
of  our  time.  ...  It  has  usually  come  before  the  public 
eye  in  small,  detached  portions,  with  slight  pretension  to 
permanence  in  the  form  of  its  publication,  and  has  been 
rescued  from  speedy  oblivion  only  by  its  own  beauty 
and  power.  The  genius  of  the  artist  and  the  liberality 
of  the  publisher  have  done  far  too  little  toward  pre 
senting  in  an  attractive  shape  and  with  due  advan 
tages  the  finest  productions  of  our  poets.  We  have  left 
our  pearls  unstrung.  We  have  made  few  attempts  to 
heighten  the  brilliancy  of  our  gems  by  the  beauty  of 
their  setting." 

No  one  will  doubt  the  truth  of  these  words  who  will 
consider  for  a  moment  how  the  popular  taste  for  many 
years  past  has  come  to  regard  illustrations  as  an  almost 
indispensable  adjunct  to  collections  of  poetry;  and  that 
publishers  are  as  truly  alive  to  the  importance  of  pic 
torial  embellishment  as  they  are  to  that  of  the  text  it 
adorns.  It  was,  then,  prophetic  forecast  to  discern  the 
needed  element.  The  reading  public  was  quick  to  rec 
ognize  the  delicate  and  graceful  creations  of  the  artist's 
pencil  in  "  The  Poets  of  America,"  and  the  work  in  two 
scries  passed  through  several  editions,  universally  com- 


JOHN  KEESE.  33 

mended   by  the    press,  and    admired    by  all   lovers   of 
poetry.  * 

The  "  Poetical  Remains  "  of   Miss   Lucy  Hooper,  a 
young  and  gifted  poetess  of  Brooklyn,  in  whose  career 


*  The  following  editorial,  under  the  heading  of  "  Our  Poets  Forty-three 
Years  ago,"  appeared  in  the  Boston  "Evening  Transcript "  of  March  1, 1882  : 

"  It  is  worth  while  sometimes  to  look  back  on  our  past  and  see  what  it 
promised  ;  then  to  return  to  the  present  and  see  how  those  promises  have 
been  kept.  In  the  realm  of  poetry,  many  have  been  realized,  exceeding  the 
most  sanguine  expectations  of  the  author's  best  friends.  We  have  before  us 
a  book  bound  in  a  fine,  old-fashioned  elegance,  entitled  '  The  Poets  of 
America  :  illustrated  by  one  of  her  Painters,'  edited  by  John  Keese,  and 
copyrighted  by  Samuel  Colman,  of  New  York,  in  1839.  ^n  tne  preface  the 
editor  says  :  '  American  poetry  has  hitherto  been  little  more  than  a  happy 
accident,  and  seems  to  have  arisen  in  spite  of  the  practical  tendencies  of  our 
country  and  the  prosaic  character  of  our  time.  It  has  been  produced  mostly 
by  minds  devoted  to  sterner  studies,  and  in  brief  intervals  of  leisure  snatched 
from  more  engrossing  toils.  The  intellectual  energy  of  our  land  has  as  yet 
consecrated  itself,  perhaps  too  exclusively,  to  the  mighty  work  of  preparing 
a  spacious  home  for  the  thronging  multitudes  of  our  population,  and  building 
up  for  their  protection  a  great  national  polity.  The  main  part  of  our  poet 
ical  literature,  therefore,  has  been  occasional  and  fugitive.  It  has  usually 
come  before  the  public  eye  in  small,  detached  portions,  with  slight  pretension 
to  permanence  in  the  form  of  its  publication,  and  has  been  rescued  from 
speedy  oblivion  only  by  its  own  beauty  and  power.  .  .  .  Of  the  literary  char 
acter  of  this  work  it  is  not  necessary  that  the  editor  should  speak.  He 
has  sought  to  present,  in  a  fitting  form,  some  of  the  finest  specimens — the 
true  spirit  of  American  poetry  ;  and,  if  he  has  not  failed  in  his  attempt,  the 
volume  surely  is  worthy  of  perusal  and  preservation.  He  commends  it,  then, 
to  the  library  and  the  boudoir.  He  trusts  that  the  bright  glance  of  the  beau 
tiful  and  the  accomplished  will  always  rest  upon  its  pages  with  pleasure,  and 
that  even  the  sobriety  of  scholarship  and  the  sternness  of  criticism  will  some 
times  kindle  into  the  enthusiasm  of  praise.' 

"  The  birthday  of  our  poet  Longfellow  brought  this  old  book  to  mind,  as 
he  was  one  of  those  complimented  by  two  selections  in  the  eighty-eight 
'specimens'  from  sixty-one  different  authors,  a  list  of  whom  we  annex.  It 
will  be  a  curiosity  to  many  of  our  readers,  and  to  many  call  up  some  pre 
cious  memories : 

41  Allston,  Bryant,  Brooks,  Barker,  Burr,  Bird,  Cutter,  Clarke,  Drake 
Davidson,  Dana,  Doane,  Dawes,  Dinnies,  Daponte,  Everett,  Ellet,  Embury, 
3 


34  MEMOIR  OF 

he  had  taken  a  warm  interest,  were  gathered  and  pub 
lished  with  a  memior  in  1842  ;  and  the  volume  gained 
an  added  and  tender  grace  in  bearing  the  sweet  and 
loving  tribute  of  Whittier,  commencing— 

"  They  tell  me,  Lucy,  thou  art  dead — 

That  all  of  thee  we  loved  and  cherished 
Has  with  thy  summer  roses  perished  ; 

And  left,  as  its  young  beauty  fled, 

An  ashen  memory  in  its  stead  ! 

Cold  twilight  of  a  parted  day." 

And  ending — 

"All  lovely  things  by  thee  beloved 

Shall  whisper  to  our  hearts  of  thee, 
These  green  hills  where  thy  childhood  roved, 

Yon  river  winding  to  the  sea — 
The  sunset  light  of  autumn  eves 

Reflecting  on  the  deep,  still  floods, 
Cloud,  crimson  sky,  and  trembling  leaves 

Of  rainbow-tinted  woods — 
These,  in  our  view,  shall  henceforth  take 
A  tenderer  meaning  for  thy  sake, 
And  all  thou  loved'st  of  earth  and  sky 
Seem  sacred  to  thy  memory  ! " 

In  1843  tnc  poems  of  Elizabeth  Oakes-Smith  ap 
peared  under  his  editorship ;  and  he  wisely  supple- 
Fay,  Gould,  Oilman,  Hallcck,  Hale,  Holmes,  Hillhouse,  Hoffman,  Irving, 
Longfellow,  Lcggett,  Lawrence,  M'Lellan,  Moore,  Mitchell,  Mellen,  Nor 
ton,  Neal,  Percival,  Peabody,  Pierpont,  Pinkney,  Prentice,  Pickering,  Pauld- 
ing,  Rockwell,  Sprague,  Sutermeistcr,  Sigourncy,  Simms,  Sands,  Smith, 
Street,  Sargent,  Tuckcrman,  Timrod,  Wood  worth,  Wilcox,  Willis,  Wilde, 
Whittier,  Wells." 


JOHN  KEESE.  35 

mented  his  preface  with  a  sketch  of  "  Major  Jack 
Downing  "  (the  husband  of  the  poetess),  by  John  Neal, 
and  an  analysis  of  Mrs.  Smith's  genius  and  character,  by 
Henry  T.  Tuckerman ;  thus  bringing  into  general  notice 
the  literary  proclivities  and  achievements  of  both  writ 
ers,  and  winning  for  them  immediate  and  appreciative 
regard.  It  was  characteristic  of  him  to  do  this,  for  he 
constantly  sought,  not  only  to  encourage  the  efforts  of 
laudable  ambition,  but  to  aid  substantially  in  the  recog 
nition  and  the  circulation  of  its  fruits.  Many  a  despond 
ent  author  in  those  days  was  cheered  and  comforted 
by  his  generous  sympathy  ;  and,  while  still  he  recom 
mended  patience,  he  encouraged  hope  and  would  not 
entertain  despair.  In  this  same  year  he  suffered  his  first 
domestic  bereavement,  in  the  death  of  his  third  child,  a 
noble  boy  of  five  years.  Playing  with  some  companions 
on  the  pier  near  the  South  Ferry,  at  the  foot  of  Atlantic 
Street,  he  accidentally  fell  into  the  river,  and  was 
drowned  before  succor  could  reach  him. 

"Spring  was  unfolding  like  his  own  fresh  life, 

When  from  the  bosom  of  parental  love, 
And  boyhood's  merry  sports,  an  instant's  strife 
Bore  him  all  stainless  to  a  home  above."  * 

Out  of  the  feeling  engendered  by  this  visitation  of 
sorrow  grew  the  little  offering  of  sympathy  called  "  The 
Mourner's  Chaplet,"  a  collection  of  American  elegiac 
poems,  carefully  chosen  for  their  consolatory  spirit,  pub 
lished  the  following  year.  In  the  same  year  appeared 

*  "  The  Early  Called,"  by  Henry  T.  Tuckerman. 


36  MEMOIR  OF 

the  first  of  his  annuals — "  The  Wintergreen  " — and  it 
was  probably  about  that  time  that  he  was  also  engaged 
in  furnishing  a  large  portion  of  the  text  for  the  quarto 
"  North  American  Scenery,  from  Drawings  by  White- 
field."  In  1846  he  published  "  The  Opal,  a  Pure  Gift  for 
the  Holidays  "  ;  and  its  popularity  induced  the  prepara 
tion  of  a  second  volume  in  1847.  ''The  Forest  Legen 
dary,"  a  collection  of  metrical  tales  of  the  North  Amer 
ican  woods,  appeared  in  1848  ;  and  his  gift-book,  "  The 
Floral  Keepsake,"  in  1850.  This  completes  the  list  of 
publications  edited  by  Mr.  Keese ;  and,  although  not  a 
formidable  one,  it  was  much  to  have  accomplished  un 
der  pressure  of  business,  which,  far  from  ceasing  with 
the  day,  demanded  frequent  nightly  service.  Viewed  in 
no  sense  as  original  productions,  the  various  works  cited 
were,  at  least,  so  many  evidences  of  good  taste,  literary 
discrimination,  and  a  thoughtful  consideration  of  the 
claims  of  genius  ;  and  there  is  something  highly  merito 
rious  in  the  fact  that  all  this  painstaking  labor  was  in 
obedience  to  an  impulse  to  exalt  our  literature,  and  in 
dedication  to  the  cause  of  refined  culture.  The  educa 
tion  of  the  community  always  seemed  to  him  a  prime 
desideratum.  He  believed  in  the  Baconian  notion  that 
knowledge  is  power ;  and  it  gave  him  the  greatest  sat 
isfaction,  at  a  later  period  of  his  life,  to  make  public  ex 
pression  of  his  views  in  that  regard,  which  he  did  in  a 
lecture  on  "  The  Influence  of  Knowledge."  delivered  at 
the  New  York  Tabernacle,  in  u 

The   late   Evert    A.    Ouvckinck  was  of  opinion  that, 
had  not  my  father  been  closely  attached  to  the  book  busi- 


JOHN  KEESE.  37 

ness  from  his  youth,  he  would  probably  have  been  an 
author.  He  certainly  might  have  been  a  creator  and 
worker  in  some  department  of  literature ;  but  I  can  not 
say  that  he  was  organized  for  systematic  and  sustained 
intellectual  fulfillment.  He  would  have  been  perspica 
cious  as  a  critical  essayist,  admirable  as  a  book-re 
viewer,  expert  and  felicitous  as  a  writer  of  vcrs  de  soci- 
tte  ;  fertile  in  literary  expedients,  he  might  have  made  a 
successful  journalist ;  but  his  mind  was  too  alert  and 
eager  for  the  restraints  of  patient  authorship.  It  was  so 
much  easier  for  him  to  talk  than  to  write !  He  was  a 
man  of  society  ;  and  what  he  said  there,  on  the  spur  of 
the  moment,  drawn  forth  or  suggested  by  the  turns  of 
conversation,  was  so  much  better  and  brighter  than  any 
thing  he  could  have  produced  by  deliberation,  that  it  is 
a  question  whether  in  subjection  to  imposed  discipline 
he  would  not  have  lost  in  freshness  and  spontaneity.  All 
things  considered,  I  feel  that  his  part  was  well  taken, 
and  I  believe  that  no  regret  tinged  his  thought  in  any 
silent  hour  of  retrospection. 

He  never,  that  I  am  aware  of,  made  any  attempt  to 
collect  his  fugitive  poems  for  publication.  They  were 
few  in  number  and  widely  scattered.  But,  if  all  the 
jests,  epigrams,  and  impromptu  verses,  that  were  his, 
and  all  the  sonnets,  valentines,  dedicatory  poems,  etc., 
etc.,  written  for  friends,  for  years  and  years,  should 
be  printed,  they  would  make  a  portly  volume,  and 
eloquently  testify  to  the  author's  obliging  disposition 
and  good  nature. 

During   most   of   the  period   mentioned   above,  our 


38  MEMOIR  OF 

family  occupied  a  house  on  the  north  side  of  Atlantic 
Street,  nearly  opposite  to  where  was  once  the  eastern 
opening  of  the  now-filled-in  tunnel — which  tunnel,  by- 
thc-wav,  was  begun  and  finished  while  we  lived  there — 
and  there  some  of  the  happiest  years  of  my  father's  life 
were  passed — years  of  prosperity  and  health ;  years 
fruitful  in  culture;  years  rich  in  genial  companionship 
and  intellectual  communion  ;  years  golden  in  the  memo 
ries  they  have  left.  It  was  there  that  he  gathered  around 
him  a  literary  group,  comprising  names  well  known  to  a 
past  generation,  and  the  writings  of  many  of  whom  still 
command  respect  and  admiration. 

The  writer  of  these  pages,  like  Halleck's  "  Fanny," 
was  younger  once  than  he  is  now ;  but  he  is  not  old 
enough  to  have  belonged  to  that  past  in  the  sense  that 
will  permit  him  to  paint  that  circle  with  the  hues  of 
memory.  With  the  exception  of  Charles  Fenno  Hoff 
man  and  Henry  Theodore  Tuckerman,  who  were  fre 
quent  and  familiar  visitors,  recollection  is  dim  and  un 
certain;  and  another  pen  must  arrest  and  inform  with 
liidit  and  color  the  shadowy  figures  of  my  retrospect. 
Happily  for  my  readers,  that  pen  is  at  my  command, 
though  the  hand  that  wielded  it  so  deftly  lies  pulseless 
in  the  gra\  <  . 

In  June,  1880,  the  late  Henry  Morford  *  wrote,  and 
published  in  the  magazine  bearing  his  name,  an  appre 
ciative  and  interesting  sketch,  in  the  course  of  which  the 
identical  group  in  question  was  drawn.  I  deem  it  es 
pecially  good  fortune  to  be  thus  enabled  to  complete  my 

*  Henry  Morford  was  born  March  10,  1823,  and  died  in  1881. 


JOHN  KEESE.  39 

record  of  an  important  period ;  and,  if  any  excuse  were 
needed  for  introducing  Mr.  Morford's  felicitous  portrait 
ure,  it  would  be  found  in  the  remembrance  of  his  warm 
attachment  to  my  father,  and  in  my  gratitude  for  his  ex 
pression  of  friendship. 

A  LITERARY  GROUP 

OF   FORTY  YEARS  AGO. 

[Extracted  from  a  sketch  entitled  "Jolin  Kcese  ;  his  Inti 
mates,  etc."  First  published  in  "Morford's  Magazine"  June, 
1880.] 

FORTY  years  have  passed  since  the  writer,  then  on  the 
verge  of  manhood,  came  up  to  the  city  of  New  York, 
one  Saturday  evening,  from  his  place  of  residence  in  the 
country,  especially  to  remain  over  the  Sunday,  and  to 
spend  the  evening  of  that  day  at  John  Reese's,  on  Atlan 
tic  Street,  not  far  from  Court  Street,  Brooklyn,  almost 
exactly  where,  at  that  time  (as  the  memory  comes  back 
to-day),  ended  the  tunnel  running  up  Atlantic  Street 
from  the  South  Ferry,  for  the  use  of  the  railroad  to  Ja 
maica. 

What  was  the  number  of  that  house  on  Atlantic 
Street?  Does  the  house  still  stand?  Enough  to  say 
that  the  eye  does  not  readily  pick  it  out,  if  it  exists :  as  a 
house,  and  for  any  purpose  connected  with  this  paper,  it 
has  ceased  to  be. 

And  yet  this  should  not  be  so ;  for  within  the  walls 
of  that  house,  that  evening  and  on  many  which  followed, 
with  and  without  the  presence  of  the  writer,  was  gath- 


40  MEMOIR   OF 

ered  a  literary  circle  which  has  rarely  been  equaled  in 
America  in  numbers,  and  which  has  scarcely  ever  had 
its  superior  in  the  quality  of  the  persons  composing  it, 
except  possibly  now  and  again  when  so  has  gathered 
the  literary  force  of  the  Middle  States  round  Washing 
ton  Irving  in  his  golden  days  at  Sunnyside,  or  when  the 
culture  of  Boston  and  its  clustering  supplementary 
towns  of  Massachusetts  has  so  gathered  with  Longfel 
low  or  Lowell  or  Holmes,  in  the  days  since  England 
pronounced  Boston  the  "  intellectual  center  of  the  United 
States."  If  the  old  walls  are  still  standing,  they  should 
have  memories  of  the  voices  that  forty  years  ago  rang 
through  them,  in  wit,  pathos,  and  wisdom,  only  second 
to  those  clustering  under  the  roof  of  banker-poet  Sam 
Rogers,  from  the  recollections  of  Thackeray,  and  Macau- 
lay,  and  Hood,  and  Hook,  and  Barry  Cornwall,  and 
Lamb,  and  all  that  glorious  circle,  the  very  thought  of 
which  is  bewildering  to  the  commonplace  mortal! 

Is  it  possible  to  recall  the  names  and  the  personalities 
of  those  who  were  present  on  that  evening  when  the 
dazzled  literary  neophyte  first  set  foot  on  that  enchanted 
drawing-room  carpet?  No  —  possibly  not:  memory 
plays  strange  tricks,  when  there  are  many  years  in 
which  to  play  them  ;  and  the  best  that  can  be  done  is 
to  recall  those  who  were  to  be  found  there,  if  not  that 
special  evening,  at  least  on  some  of  the  other  evenings 
rapidly  following. 

Shall  we  "reckon  without  the  host,"  or  even  with 
out  the  hostess?  Assuredly,  not  so!  Let  John  Keese, 
without  whom  those  gatherings  would  never  have  been, 


JOHN  KEESE.  4! 

have  the  first  place  of  honor.  A  man  of  medium  stature, 
thin  and  wiry  in  figure,  with  keen  face,  the  nose  mark 
edly  Roman  and  prominent,  very  heavy  dark  brows, 
almost  meeting  in  the  middle,  and  with  a  dark  tuft  at 
the  root  of  the  nose ;  eyes  large,  dark,  and  notably  keen ; 
mouth  with  a  tendency  to  set  itself  a  trifle  tightly  when 
in  thought;  full  dark  beard  (the  mustache  not  then 
worn,  and  to  come  later),  full  dark  hair,  with  a  dash  of 
gray  even  then  evident ;  thin,  nervous,  and  expressive 
hands  ;  and  over  all,  and  crowning  the  whole,  a  sugges 
tion  of  quick,  rapid,  almost  restless  activity,  as  impos 
sible  to  describe  as  to  duplicate.  Such  was  John  Keese, 
of  1 839-^40,  as  the  memory  comes  back  to-day:  would 
the  bright,  active,  restless,  incorporeal  self  of  the  dear 
old  friend  recognize  it,  it  may  be  wondered,  if  to-day,  in 
another  sphere,  as  thoroughly  alive  and  all-observing 
as  when  so  long  ago  it  informed  its  energetic  human 
tenement?  This  the  host:  how  describe  the  hostess, 
who  yet  lives  (thank  God ! ),  and  upon  whom  the 
hand  of  Time  has  been  laid  more  lightly  than  upon 
any  other  daughter  of  Eve  in  recollection?  The  very 
antipodes  of  her  dark-haired,  thin,  and  wiry  hus 
band.  Blonde,  blue-eyed,  middle-statured,  handsomely 
formed  and  featured,  and  youthful-looking  enough 
for  girlhood,  though  already  the  mother  of  three 
boys,  one  of  whom,  bright  and  sparkling  Larry  (Jona 
than  Lawrence),  was  to  die,  in  service,  in  the  ranks 
of  the  Seventh  Regiment,  in  the  opening  days  of 
the  rebellion ;  the  second,  William  Linn ;  and  the 
third,  little  Willets,  to  perish  by  drowning,  almost 


42  MEMOIR  OF 

within  sight  of   his  home,  before  passing  quite  out  of 
childhood. 

\Vho  next  is  entitled  to  place,  of  that  circle  certainly 
met  on  the  first  evening  and  very  often  after?  Assured 
ly  he  of  whom  a  leading  English  publication  said,  at 
very  nearly  the  same  period,  that  "  his  plume  waved 
above  the  heads  of  all  the  literary  men  of  America,  a 
cubit  clear" — Charles  Fenno  Hoffman.  A  man  of  tall 
figure,  with  broad  shoulders  and  a  general  physique  in 
dicating  that  he  had  been  originally  intended  for  a  man 
of  robust  habit,  until  accident  and  occupation  had  com 
bined  to  thin  him  and,  possibly,  "  fine "  him  a  little. 
Bearing  in  appearance,  gesture,  and  speech,  evidence  of 
the  very  good  old  blood  to  which  he  belonged  ;  and  a 
thorough  gentleman  at  every  point.  A  fine  head,  with 
dark-brown  hair,  quite  decidedly  inclined  to  wavy  curl; 
whiskers  of  the  same  color  and  character  quite  surround 
ing  the  face,  though  with  the  lips  and  chin  clean-shaven ; 
a  good  and  rather  firm  mouth  ;  nose  slightly  low,  though 
of  fair  length,  and  the  reverse  of  aquiline  ;  and  pleasant 
eyes,  wcll-browcd,  but  always  hidden  behind  the  glasses 
made  necessary  by  short-sight — such  were,  at  that  (lav, 
the  features  of  the  man  who  had  written  "  Sparkling  and 
Bright  "  (the  finest  Anacreontic  ever  penned  on  this  side 
of  the  Atlantic),  edited  the  "Knickerbocker"  (at  its 
commencement),  afterward  the  "  American  Monthly  " 
and  the  "  New  York  Mirror,"  and  published  such  nota 
ble  volumes  as  "  A  Winter  in  the  West,"  "  Wild  Scenes 
in  the  Forest  and  the  Prairies,"  the  novel  of  "  Greyslacr  " 
(followed  afterward  by  "  The  Red  Spur  of  Ramapo  "), 


JOHN  KEESE.  43 

and  much  besides,  holding  high  place  in  the  world  of 
American  literature.  Mr.  Hoffman — though  not  all  who 
met  him  were  aware  of  the  fact — had  lost  a  leg  in  an 
accident,  many  years  before,  yet  still  remained  the  devo 
tee  of  the  field  and  the  forest ;  and  of  the  charm  of 
his  scholarly  and  dignified  conversation  only  those  can 
judge  who  heard  him  on  such  occasions  as  that  under 
notice,  at  that  crowning  era  of  his  life.  Ten  years  later, 
when  Zachary  Taylor  was  President,  and  he  held  a 
government  position  at  Washington,  he  was  attacked  by 
mental  disease,  lost  his  mind  entirely  (there  were  those 
who  said  that  a  woman's  falsehood  was  the  cause  of  the 
malady),  and,  through  the  thirty  years  that  have  elapsed 
since  then,  has  lived  the  inmate  of  a  Pennsylvania  insti 
tution  for  the  insane,  forgetful  of  all  that  had  been,  his 
past  fame,  and  perhaps  even  his  identity. 

Next,  in  that  circle,  one  of  the  handsomest  men  of  his 
day,  and  one  of  the  most  accomplished  gentlemen  and 
most  irreproachable  writers  of  any  day — Henry  Theo 
dore  Tuckerman.  A  figure  of  something  more  than 
medium  height,  with  face  slightly  Roman  in  cast  and 
Southern-European  in  suggestion ;  strong  brows ;  pleas 
ant  dark  eyes;  close-cut,  dark  curling  hair,  and  full 
beard  and  mustache,  also  dark  and  curling.  Sweetly 
grave  in  manner,  with  flashes  of  absolute  mischief  in 
conversation.  He  had  already,  at  that  time,  made  the 
tour  of  Europe,  producing  his  "  Italian  Sketch-Book" 
and  "  Isabel,  or  Sicily " ;  though  the  "  Month  in  Eng 
land,"  "  Thoughts  on  the  Poets,"  "  Artist  Life,"  "  Char 
acteristics  of  Literature,"  "  Mental  Portraits,"  etc.,  and 


44 


MEMOIR  OF 


that  unrivaled  scries  of  essays,  "  The  Optimist,"  were  yet 
to  follow  at  different  periods  of  a  life  then  yet  very 
young.  Perhaps  no  man  of  his  age  had  more  the  fac 
ulty  of  winning  blended  respect  and  love ;  and  few  ob 
servers  of  character  were  so  keen,  as  many  of  his  after- 
publications  well  testified. 

Perhaps  the  next  place  should  be  given  to  a  lady — or 
at  least  to  a  lady  and  her  husband.  At  that  time  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Seba  Smith  were  at  something  approaching 
the  height  of  their  fame,  which  had  been  a  trifle  mete 
oric,  and  was  destined  to  be  rather  short-lived.  Outside 
of  the  circle  of  personal  acquaintance,  not  one  in  ten 
knew  the  real  name  of  the  short  and  undistinguished- 
looking  man,  with  a  certain  Yankee  shrewdness  which 
made  his  conversation  interesting  while  never  deep  or 
profound — "  Major  Jack  Downing."  The  generation 
has  now  nearly  all  passed  away  who  personally  knew 
of  and  read  at  the  time  of  their  publication  Mr.  Seba 
Smith's  one  successful  essay  in  life,  "  Major  Jack  Down- 
ing's  Letters  "  from  Washington  and  elsewhere,  dealing 
with  the  capital,  the  President  and  his  Cabinet  and  Con 
gress,  in  the  Yankee  dialect,  spiced  with  the  gossip  so 
easily  picked  up  through  the  close  observation  of  a 
Portland  editor,  and  really  forming,  for  some  years,  one 
of  the  current  literary  features  of  the  period,  until  their 
collection  into  a  volume  in  1833,  after  which  (as  is  the 
fate  of  many  things  written  for  an  occasion)  they  very 
soon  ceased  to  be  remembered,  and  they  and  their 
writer  were  quickly  overlooked  if  not  forgotten.  It 
was  about  that  time  that  Mr.  Smith  was  preparing  for 


JOHN  KEESE.  45 

publication  his  most  important  work,  "  Powhatan,  a 
Metrical  Romance,"  which  did  not,  however,  take  the 
country  by  storm,  the  best  talent  of  the  writer  evidently 
lying  in  the  epistolary  walk  before  pursued.  Before  his 
death  Mr.  Smith  also  wrote  many  tales  and  sketches  for 
the  magazines,  collected  in  1855  or  1856,  in  "Down 
East " — and  contributed  to  scientific  education  a  work 
on  the  "  New  Elements  of  Geometry." 

Of  the  rather  handsome  and  undeniably  attractive 
lady  who  was  at  that  time  the  wife  of  "  Major  Jack 
Downing,"  much  more  might  be  said,  as  the  lady  filled 
a  much  broader  place  in  literary  history.  Mrs.  Smith 
had,  personally,  very  handsome  eyes ;  a  high  and  full 
forehead,  with  waved  light-brown  hair  swept  down  and 
sometimes  hanging  in  ringlets  on  either  side  of  the  face  ; 
a  small  and  almost  childish  mouth,  with  a  chin  to  corre 
spond  ;  and  a  soft  and  pleasant  voice  which  some  of 
those  who  believed  her  addicted  to  coquetry  regarded 
as  a  trifle  affected.  Willis  considered  that  the  Hon. 
Mrs.  Norton  had  made,  and  worthily  made,  very  much 
of  her  reputation  by  the  exquisite  title  of  one  of  her 
most  popular  poems,  "  The  Undying  One " ;  and  he 
proved  his  belief  by  actually  naming  the  lady  after  her 
heroine,  in  "  Lady  Jane  "  : 

"  All  this  time  the  *  Undying  One '  was  singing  ; 

She  ceased,  and  Jules  felt  every  sound  a  pain, 
While  that  sweet  cadence  in  his  ear  was  ringing." 

And  it  is  not  too  much  to  aver  that  Mrs.  Seba  Smith 
won  something  like  the  same  appreciation  from  the  title 


46  MEMOIR  OF 

of  Jicr  best-known  poem,  "  The  Sinless  Child."  It  first 
saw  the  light  in  the  "  Southern  Literary  Messenger," 
then  (between  forty  and  fifty  years  since)  one  of  the 
leading  literary  publications  of  America,  if  not  indeed 
the  very  first.  Nearly  at  the  time  to  which  this  paper 
refers,  it  gave  title  to  "  The  Sinless  Child,  and  other 
Poems,"  published  in  New  York,  where  another  volume 
of  verse  from  the  same  pen  had  already  preceded  it.  It 
had  many  fine  lines,  and  was  almost  worthy  the  reputa 
tion  acquired  by  it,  as  have  been,  before  and  after,  a 
large  part  of  the  poetical  labors  of  Mrs.  Smith.  It  must 
have  been  at  about  this  time  that  she  gave  to  the  world 
"  The  Roman  Tribute,"  a  five-act  tragedy,  and  somewhat 
later  another,  local  to  New  York  colonial  history,  "Ja 
cob  Leisler."  She  also  published,  very  little  later,  "  The 
Western  Captive,"  a  novel ;  and  a  minor  prose  work, 
"  The  Salamander,"  attracted  some  attention,  especially 
among  the  younger  generation.  The  lady  who  at  that 
time  wore  her  brown  curls  of  motherhood  so  coquet- 
tishly  is  still  living,  at  what  must  be  an  advanced  age ; 
but  she  has  long  since  ceased  to  be  known,  or  spoken  of 
by  those  meeting  or  remembering  her,  as  "  Mrs.  Seba 
Smith."  Long  since,  she  became  "  Mrs.  Elizabeth 
( hikes-Smith  " — probably  from  some  right  to  the  name 
by  blood,  though  not  by  birth,  her  maiden  name  having 
been  Prince.  Her  sons,  Appleton  and  Edward  (both 
somewhat  well  known  a  quarter  of  a  century  since), 
went  beyond  the  mother  in  her  dilution  of  the  name  of 
Smith  :  they  changed  it  altogether  by  linking  the  two 
halves  together,  and  becoming  "  Oaksmith,"  not  much 


JOHN  KEESE.  47 

to  the  content  or  honor,  one  would  think,  of  the  de 
parted  spirit  of  plain  "  Seba  Smith  "  of  the  "  Jack  Down 
ing  Letters."  But  whatever  the  name,  Captain  Apple- 
ton  Oaksmith,  at  least,  made  it  notable  in  the  detail  of 
bravery  :  for  the  writer  well  remembers  hearing  an  Eng 
lish  commodore  speak  of  him  as  "  the  devil  and  all,  for 
pluck ! "  after  his  long  and  terrible  fight  of  three  days, 
with  his  ship  and  crew,  against  overwhelming  odds,  on 
the  west  coast  of  Africa. 

There  was  another  couple  present  on  that  first  even 
ing  and  not  seldom  after — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Balmanno, 
whose  names  suggested  their  Scottish  nationality,  and 
who  well  sustained  the  national  reputation  by  a  broad 
heartiness,  winning  them  many  friends  and  not  a  few  ad 
mirers.  Both  wrote — the  wife  (if  memory  does  not  fail) 
a  little  poetry  and  more  of  belles-lettres  prose  ;  and  the 
husband,  on  many  subjects  connected  with  the  history 
of  his  birth-land  and  the  antiquities  of  Long  Island. 
They  were  unexceptionable  social  companions,  Mr.  Bal 
manno  especially  ;  and  years  have  not  dimmed  the  recol 
lection  of  his  wealth  of  anecdote,  embodying  ancestral 
recollections  of  the  days  of  Charles  Edward  Stuart,  and 
reminiscences  of  all  the  great  and  notable  of  the  previous 
century  in  the  Land  of  the  Thistle. 

But  here  a  fair,  sweet  presence  rises — that  of  Frances 
Sargent  Osgood,  not  a  very  frequent  visitor,  it  is  true, 
but  occasionally  to  be  found  in  that  charmed  circle,  and 
when  so  found  always  delighting  it.  America  has 
known  no  truer  poetess  than  this  lady,  in  all  her 
years  of  nurture.  No  human  face  was  ever  more  per- 


48  MEMOIR  OF 

fectly  chiseled  than  hers — due  regard  having  been  had, 
meanwhile,  to  the  fact  that  a  woman,  and  not  a  statue, 
was  being  formed.  That  calm,  pleasant  face,  those  soft 
and  kindly  brown  eyes,  and  that  wealth  of  waved  dark 
hair  drawn  low  over  her  fair,  white  forehead,  in  the 
fashion  of  the  time  (since  called  the  "Agnes  Robert 
son  "),  won  many  a  heart,  the  homage  of  which  was  kept 
by  the  always  kindly  and  tender  words  flowing  from  the 
faultless  lips  seldom  opened  but  to  emit  a  sparkle.  Mrs. 
Osgood  returned  to  America,  from  London  (where  she 
had  published  a  collection  of  poems  with  the  modest 
title  of  "  A  Wreath  of  Wild  Flowers  from  New  Eng 
land,"  and  written  a  play  called  "  The  Happy  Release," 
at  the  suggestion  of  James  Sheridan  Knowles),  very  soon 
after  that  first  evening,  and  was  thereafter,  when  she 
became  a  resident  of  New  York,  no  infrequent  sharer  of 
those  pleasant  hospitalities.  It  was  some  years  later 
that  the  fiend  of  disease  laid  his  hand  upon  her,  closing 
her  honorable  and  popular  career  in  1850,  and  leaving  in 
the  minds  of  those  who  had  known  and  loved  her  the 
IK  lief  that  she  had  by  no  means  done  the  best  that  was 
in  her,  even  in  such  poems  as  "  The  Spirit  of  Poctrv." 
"  Labor  is  Rest,"  and  the  "  Dear  Little  Truant." 

And  yet  a^ain,  face  au.v  dames  !  Oddly  enough, 
while  the  mind  of  the  writer  can  so  well  recall  the  pleas 
ant  word  and  the  always  welcome  presence  of  Mrs. 
Emma  C.  Embury,  no  recollection  remains  of  her  looks. 
Let  what  she  was  and  what  she  did  atone  for  the  lack  of 
any  personal  description,  in  a  paper  not  intended  to  be 
dependent  on  the  recollections  of  others.  Sometimes 


JOHN  KEESE.  49 

alone,  and  sometimes  accompanied  by  her  wealthy  and 
socially  distinguished  husband,  Mr.  Daniel  Embury, 
Mrs.  Embury  was  often  a  member  of  that  circle,  bear 
ing  very  modestly  the  honors  of  her  varied  publica 
tions,  of  which  "  Guido  and  other  Poems  "  was  the  chief 
poetical  exponent  volume,  while  "  The  Blind  Girl," 
"  Pictures  of  Early  Life,"  "  Causes  and  Consequences," 
and  other  prose  works  in  large  number,  in  newspaper 
and  other  publications,  gave  token,  and  very  little  more, 
of  what  might  have  been  had  the  authoress  chosen  to 
throw  herself  fully  into  a  professional  literary  career. 

What  a  strong,  earnest  face  and  what  a  Byronic 
head  were  those  of  William  Gilmore  Simms,  who,  once 
in  a  while,  in  some  of  his  Northern  visits,  glanced  in  and 
out  among  the  circle  of  visitors !  That  shaven  face  and 
the  curly  head  above  it  were  "  all  alive,"  as  the  phrase  is 
—alive  with  the  energy  of  the  man  who  has  been  truly 
and  properly  called  "  the  Walter  Scott  of  the  South  "— 
equally  excellent  in  prose  and  poetry  ;  author  of  "  Ata- 
lantis,"  one  of  the  best  imaginative  poems  that  the  coun 
try  has  even  yet  produced,  and  of  so  many  historical 
and  romantic  prose  works  that  nearly  the  same  fatigue 
is  involved  in  their  mere  naming,  to  be  found  in  tracing 
the  endless  maze  of  Scott.  There  was  something  of 
John  Wilson,  of  "  Blackwood,"  too,  in  the  man  who  was 
so  thoroughly  alive  and  earnest.  At  the  time  of  which 
this  paper  treats,  Mr.  Simms  was  at  about  the  glory  of 
his  early  manhood — half-way  between  infancy  and  three 
score  and  ten ;  and  he  had  made  the  mark,  some  years 
before,  of  "  Atalantis,"  and  his  first  novel,  "  Martin  Fa- 
4 


50  MEMOIR  OF 

ber,"  and,  very  little  before  that  time,  of  "  Southern  Pas 
sages  and  Pictures" — a  most  enjoyable  medley.  He 
was  an  indefatigable  student,  and  equally  indefatigable 
in  the  impartation  of  any  item  of  knowledge  in  his  pos 
session,  and  the  discussion  of  all  the  subjects  relating  to 
it;  and  those  who  remember  him  at  that  period  can 
well  understand  the  feeling  with  which  Paul  Hamilton 
Hayne  wrote  of  him,  when,  two  or  three  years  ago,  they 
inaugurated  his  monument  at  Charleston's  Battery  Park, 
and  the  sensations  with  which  a  whole  people  gathered 
around  his  grave,  knowing  and  feeling  that  the  South 
had  lost  one  of  the  most  distinguished  of  her  men  of  let 
ters,  if  not  indeed  the  master  of  them  all. 

The  next  figure  coming  before  the  mind's  eye,  from 
the  grouping  of  one  of  these  notable  evenings,  belongs 
to  a  man  who  during  many  years  created  and  en 
dured  as  much  excitement  connected  with  the  world 
of  American  literature  as  any  other  who  could  be 
named  —  Rufus  Wilmot  Griswold,  ex-minister  of  the 
gospel,  editor  and  literary  worker  in  general,  to  whom 
the  country  really  owed  much,  for  a  considerable 
period,  and  who  was  treated  by  that  country  more 
than  a  trifle  irregularly  before  his  death,  as  he  has 
been,  since  that  event,  with  a  blending  of  neglect  and 
captiousness.  Mr.  Griswold,  at  the  time  under  notice 
(say  at  the  earlier  part  of  it),  was  about  twenty-five 
years  old,  and  had  produced  as  yet  very  little  work  in 
the  world  of  letters,  though  he  had  laid  no  mean  founda 
tion  for  doing  so  by  quite  extensive  travels  in  Europe, 
by  studying  divinity,  and  becoming  for  a  little  time  a 


JOHN  KEESE.  5! 

preacher  in  the  Baptist  denomination.  He  was  a  man 
of  rather  small  figure,  a  very  intelligent  face,  with  the 
eyes  deep-set,  good  forehead  showing  an  early  inclina 
tion  to  the  loss  of  front  hair,  sharp  and  trenchant  nose, 
short,  full  beard  and  mustache  (adopting  the  European 
fashion  in  advance  of  most  other  Americans),  and  a 
habit  of  holding  down  the  head  a  trifle  and  looking 
keenly  out  from  beneath  the  overhanging  brows,  not  a 
little  impressive  when  he  was  very  much  in  earnest. 
Never  profound,  Mr.  Griswold  had  a  large  fund  of  cur 
rent  intelligence,  and  was  an  exceptionally  interesting 
talker,  as  possibly  he  had  been  a  speaker  of  correspond 
ing  caliber.  He  was  at  that  time  connected  with  Horace 
Greeley's  "  New-Yorker,"  in  an  editorial  capacity,  as  he 
either  had  already  been,  or  was  afterward  to  be  (here 
memory  fails  again)  with  the  "  Brother  Jonathan,"  "  The 
New  World,"  and  other  papers  with  literary  tendencies. 
It  was  a  little  later  that  he  became  editor  of  "  Graham's 
Magazine,"  doing  more  than  any  American  had  previ 
ously  done  to  draw  around  a  single  publication  the  la 
bors  of  the  best  thinkers  of  the  country,  and  ably  sec 
onded,  in  doing  so,  by  the  far-seeing  liberality  of  the 
publisher,  Mr.  George  R.  Graham,  really  the  father  of 
American  magazines  of  the  first  class.  Some  years  still 
later  (probably  about  1849  or  l%$°)  ne  started  "  The  In 
ternational  Monthly  Magazine,"  with  Stringer  &  Town- 
send  as  the  publishers  ;  and  from  1842  till  the  time  of  his 
death,  in  1856  or  1857,  he  was  laboriously  engaged  in  a 
series  of  compilations  requiring  that  industry  and  that 
persistence  of  which  he  had  so  much,  and  demanding 


52  MEMOIR  OF 

little  of  that  absolute  talent  and  that  ripe  scholarship, 
in  both  of  which  he  was  deficient.  The  number  of  his 
volumes  became  eventually  much  greater  even  than 
those  of  Gilmore  Simms,  though  largely  (as  already  said) 
compilations  ;  and  even  to  catalogue  them  would  be  no 
small  task.  Enough  to  .say  that  principal  among  them 
in  interest  were  "  The  Poets  and  Poetry  of  America," 
"  Prose  Writers  of  America,"  "  Female  Poets  of  Amer 
ica,"  "  Washington  and  the  Generals  of  the  Revolution," 
"  Napoleon  and  the  Marshals  of  the  Empire,"  "  Curiosi 
ties  of  American  Literature  "  (said  to  have  been  intend 
ed  as  a  supplement  to  Isaac  Disraeli's  "  Curiosities  of 
[English]  Literature  "),  "  Republican  Court  "  (suggesting 
or  suggested  by  Huntington's  picture  of  Washington's 
and  Lady  Washington's  aristocratic  and  notable  sur 
roundings  during  the  first  presidency),  etc.  That  Ru- 
fus  Wilmot  Griswold,  the  latter  part  of  whose  personal 
life  was  clouded  by  a  most  unfortunate  marriage,  and 
whose  reputation  has  been  worse  pulled  to  pieces  than 
that  of  any  other  man  of  the  century,  did  great  and 
meritorious  services  to  our  growing  literature,  and 
assisted  in  fostering  many  writers,  who,  without  his  en 
couragement,  would  hopelessly  have  laid  down  the  pen, 
there  is  no  question  whatever ;  and  it  is  something  of  a 
privilege,  now  that  he  has  already  been  dead  for  nearly 
a  quarter  of  a  century,  to  call  back,  however  dimly,  his 
presence,  and  bear  even  this  slight  testimony  to  his 
labors. 

And  here  a  very  different  person,  then  at  about  the 
same  age  as  Mr.  Griswold,  and  one  semi-deserting  the 


JOHN  KEESE.  53 

bar  for  literature,  as  the  other  had  quite  deserted  the 
pulpit  for  the  same  attraction.  William  H.  C.  Hosmer, 
a  rather  fine-looking  and  splendidly-voiced  young  man, 
with  whom  (though  he  is  yet  living  and  in  the  roll  of 
native  bards)  the  writer  has  never  met  since  those 
early  days.  Mr.  Hosmer  was  a  native  of  Avon,  in  the 
Genesee  Valley,  son  of  Hon.  George  Hosmer,  a  well- 
known  lawyer  of  Western  New  York,  and  of  a  mother 
who  spoke  some  of  the  languages  of  the  Indian  tribes 
and  made  a  study  of  their  traditions.  Naturally  the 
young  poet,  who  graduated  at  Geneva  College,  drift 
ed  into  knowledge  of  and  sympathy  with  the  aborigi 
nes;  and  naturally  his  first  poem  (from  the  then  yet 
unpublished  pages  of  which,  to  see  the  light  in  1864, 
he  recited  some  of  the  scenes  magnificently  in  those 
well-remembered  evenings)  was  "  Yonnondio  ;  a  Legend 
of  the  Canadice."  Mr.  Hosmer's  poetical  works  were 
published  in  1854,  largely  spiced  with  Indian  legends, 
in  the  handling  of  which  he  has  probably  never  yet 
been  excelled,  but  with  an  infinite  variety  in  the  com 
positions  grouped  around  them,  in  scenes  from  Euro 
pean  history,  the  Mexican  War,  etc. 

A  very  tall  young  man  joined  in  some  of  those 
memorable  gatherings — a  very  tall  young  man,  with  a 
strong  and  not  markedly  handsome  face,  known  as 
Richard  Grant  White.  He  talked  well,  and  had  a 
marked  tendency  to  allude  to  the  writings  of  one 
Shakespeare,  of  whom  he  appeared  to  be  a  "  Scholar." 
He  had  also  some  very  pronounced  ideas  connected 
with  philology,  giving  promise  that  some  day  he  might 


54  MEMOIR  OF 

be  heard  from  with  reference  to  spellings,  derivations, 
the  morals  of  literature,  etc.  Very  possibly  he  has 
really  been  so  heard  from :  there  has  been  for  some 
years  a  man  of  the  same  name,  connected  with  the 
New  York  Custom-House,  if  the  memory  of  the  writer 
is  not  at  fault,  who  has  written  on  such  subjects,  with 
an  occasional  run  to  English  Stratford  -  on  -  Avon,  and 
not  a  little  pronounced  familiarity  with  the  works  and 
belongings  of  the  great  dramatist.  Can  it  possibly  be 
that  this  is  the  very  tall  young  man  of  forty  years 
ago  ?  and,  if  so,  does  he  remember  ever  being  at  John 
Reese's,  in  the  midst  of  such  company  as  that  of  which 
some  of  the  members  have  been  already  character 
ized? 

Once  in  a  while,  a  tall,  slim  -  waisted,  broad-shoul 
dered  young  fellow  of  a  little  more  than  thirty,  with 
curling,  light-brown  hair,  trained  a  little  in  the  direction 
of  ringlets,  an  affectation  of  foreign  beard,  and  some 
what  more  of  other  affectation  than  boded  well  for  his 
eventual  reputation,  dropped  in  on  the  circle.  He  had 
also  an  addiction  to  colored  coats  and  D'Orsay  neck 
ties,  and  was  named  Nat  Willis — Nathaniel  P.  Willis, 
as  he  should  have  written  the  name ;  N.  Parker  Willis 
as  he  did  write  it  generally.  He  had  already,  at 
this  time,  made  the  most  extensive  of  his  Old  World 
travels,  married  Mary  Leighton  Stace,  familiarized 
himself  with  English  high  life  as  few  other  Americans 
had  ever  done,  and  written  his  "  Pencillings  by  the 
Way,"  awaking  the  admiring  envy  and  the  hostility  of 
half  the  literary  world.  He  had  published  a  good 


JOHN  KEESE.  55 

deal  of  excellent  poetry — some  of  it,  especially  "  The 
Sacred  Poems,"  never  excelled  before  or  since ;  and 
many  of  those  who  vilified  him,  and  not  a  few  of  those 
who  laughed  at  his  affectations,  recognized,  then,  and 
never  afterward  lost  the  recognition,  that  he  was  a 
man  of  true  genius,  with  a  "  crank  "  or  two  promising 
decadence  at  the  day  when  true  excellence  should 
properly  be  reached.  Englishmen,  then,  and  even  ear 
lier,  knew  him  far  better  than  they  knew  any  other 
American ;  and  it  is  betraying  no  secret  to  say  that 
they  disliked  him  not  a  little  because  he  observed  too 
closely.  A  rather  affected  but  very  charming  talker, 
whose  affectations  were  smoothed  if  not  hidden  by  his 
evident  talent  and  coveted  wide  experience  —  undeni 
ably  handsome,  and  knowing  the  fact  far  too  well — 
really  warm-hearted,  though  many  mistook  the  cold 
polish  for  the  heart  it  covered — a  wise  fool,  who  had 
and  has  many  brothers  on  the  earth,  not  all  of  them 
with  the  same  redeeming  qualities — such  was  Nat 
Willis,  whom  Father  Prout  was  already  lampooning  as 
"  Nick  Willis,"  when  the  writer  met  him  first  in  these 
reunions. 

But  this  list  must  close,  or  be  finished  with  only  a 
few  words,  though  the  pleasant  specters  of  those  even 
ings  rise  very  thickly.  Thomas  Buchanan  Read,  thin 
and  earnest-faced,  with  somewhat  long  hair — poet  and 
painter — then  nearly  at  the  same  age  as  the  writer, 
and  with  little  of  his  life-work  done.  He  had  just  re 
moved  to  New  York,  had  an  opera  in  his  mind,  and 
talked  very  enthusiastically  of  it.  "  Boston,"  and  the 


56  MEMOIR  OF 

"  Lays  and  Ballads,"  were  to  come  later,  and  then  many 
years  of  celebrity  as  an  artist  at  Philadelphia  and  in 
Italy,  and  the  noble  poetry  of  "  The  New  Pastoral." 

Then — silence  ! Colonel  Thomas  B.  Thorpe — "  Tom 

Owen,  the  Bee-hunter  " — with  his  broad  nose  and  face 
remindatory  of  Thackeray.  Afterward  to  win  laurels 
in  the  Mexican  War,  and  in  the  volumes  which  grew 
out  of  it ;  to  become  a  Brooklyn  man,  and  die  very  re 
cently,  respected  by  all,  at  or  past  sixty. "  Charcoal 

Sketch  "  Joseph  C.  Neal,  with  his  thin  face  and  pleas 
ant  manner,  and  his  conversation  always  suggesting  the 
"Chalks  on  a  Slab-Fence,  by  a  Shingle-Splitter."  To 
marry  sweet  Alice  Bradley,  a  few  years  later ;  to  leave 
her  to  do  his  unfinished  work,  and  then  to  become 
Alice  B.  Haven.—  —The  ardent,  speaking  face  and  con 
cise,  convincing  language  of  Dr.  Elisha  Kent  Kane, 
later  to  become  one  of  the  most  distinguished  of  Arc 
tic  explorers  and  martyrs  to  science. The  almost 

baby  face  and  long  curls  of  Estelle  Anna  Lewis,  newly 
a  bride,  and  not  yet  accredited  with  her  first  volume 
of  poems,  which,  and  those  following,  marked  her,  as 

a   sort   of   American  Sappho  the  Lesbian. And  two 

more,  Henry  Inman,  the  painter,  and  his  daughter. 

Henry  Inman  was  not  only  a  noble  artist,  blending 
conscientious  care  with  strong  talent,  and  winning  en 
viable  reputation  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic,  but  he 
was  a  splendid-looking,  dark-haired  man,  with  the  art 
of  conversation  very  nearly  reduced  to  a  science.  No 
amount  of  words  could  do  justice  to  Mary  Inman,  once 
painted  by  Huntington  as  the  most  beautiful  woman 


JOHN  KEESE.  57 

of  her  day,  and  well  deserving  the  appellation.  In  face, 
word,  and  manner  she  was  a  born  enchantress,  with 
no  little  knowledge  of  the  fact,  and  a  tendency  to  flir 
tation  (of  the  so-called  harmless  variety)  which  made 
many  a  young  heart  sore,  and  probably  led  away  many 
a  man,  for  a  time,  from  his  legitimate  allegiance.  What 
a  star  of  beauty,  grace,  and  vivacity  she  was,  in  those 
reunions  !  And  how  every  man  of  the  circle  —  espe 
cially  if  young  and  impressible — felt  that  here  at  last 
was  the  cynosure  of  a  legitimate  idolatry,  and  that  he 
could  "  fill  the  bill "  of  that  wayward,  womanly  de 
mand  !  She  was  an  exquisite  vocalist,  and  a  pianist 
of  no  ordinary  power ;  and  those  who  may  chance  to 
remember  having  heard  her  play  and  sing  Hoffman's 
charming  "  Rosalie  Clare  "  are  not  likely  ever  to  for 
get  the  sensation.  Witty  beyond  most  of  her  sex,  or 
indeed  most  of  either  sex,  she  was  the  chosen  antago 
nist  of  John  Keese  in  many  of  the  wit-encounters  of 
those  notable  reunions,  and  well  bore  her  banner  even 
in  those  perilous  circumstances. 

Such  were  the  celebrities  who  from  time  to  time 
gathered  within  the  walls  of  the  Atlantic  Street  house; 
and  many  a  place,  it  may  be  said,  has  become  historic 
through  associations  less  distinguished.  The  house  still 
stands ;  but  no  one  nowadays,  in  passing  it,  dreams  that 
its  roof  once  sheltered  so  bright  a  circle  of  American 
literati.  No  neighboring  memory  recalls  old  scenes  of 
joyous  revelry — the  toast,  the  song,  the  flash  of  wit, 
the  flow  of  humor,  the  gay  laughter ;  no  reminiscence 


5  8  MEMOIR  OF 

lives  of  the  suggestive  talk,  the  keen  criticism,  the  tilt 
of  intellect,  the  literary  review,  the  winged  idea,  the 
birth  of  poem  and  story.  Alas,  the  light  of  other  days 
is  faded — the  light  of  the  present  day  is  a  lantern 
over  the  doorway  ;  and,  where  once  resounded  Hoff 
man's 

"  Sparkling  and  bright  in  liquid  light 
Does  the  wine  our  goblets  gleam  in," 

King  Gambrinus  waves  a  foaming  "  schooner  "  and  in 
vites  the  thirsty  Teuton. 

Often,  in  after-years,  my  father  would  dwell  on  that 
happy  past,  and  interest  us  with  recollections  of  many 
a  famous  evening,  and  of  those  who  were  actors  in 
the  scenes  described.  How  few  are  living  of  all  that 
bright  array!  Mrs.  Oakesmith,  Hosmer,  Richard 
Grant  White,  Charles  Fenno  Hoffman,  I  believe,  are 
all,  and  poor  Hoffman's  mental  darkness  is  worse  than 
death  itself.*  How  well  I  remember  him  !  He  and 
Tuckerman,  as  before  mentioned,  were  frequent  and 
familiar  visitors,  and  my  brother  and  myself  were  often 
tutored  by  them  in  the  recitation  of  their  poems.  Mr. 
Hoffman's  "Sparkling  and  Bright"  was  my  earliest 
committal  to  memory,  and  I  can  vividly  recall  my 
rather  spasmodic  interpretation  of  Mr.  Tuckerman's 
"Apollo  Belvedere."  Then  it  was  Mr.  Hoffman's  de 
light  to  equip  us  with  shovel  and  tongs — which  last 
article  my  father  declared  would  do  on  a  pinch — and 

*  Mr.  Hoffman  is  in  the  asylum  at  Harrisburg,  and  remains  the  same  as 
he  has  been  for  years.  My  last  news  of  him  is  dated  October  26,  1881, 
and  then  there  was  no  change. 


JOHN  KEESE.  59 

put  us  through  a  military  drill,  ending  with  a  stern, 
peremptory  "  Dismiss  !  "  — the  obeying  of  which  order 
was  the  one  sole  success  of  our  performance.  Mr. 
Hoffman  was  soldier,  hunter,  wit,  poet,  all  in  one,  and, 
as  I  remember  him,  one  of  the  most  charming  of  men. 
He  had  a  fund  of  stories  of  adventure,  and  drew  to 
ward  him  the  young  with  a  magic  equal  to  that  of 
the  Piper  of  Hamelin.  Mr.  Tuckerman  was  more  re 
served  in  manner,  but  his  warm  heart  was  full  of  af 
fectionate  interest. 

While  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  intercourse  born  of 
these  memorable  gatherings,  the  change  occurred  in 
Mr.  Keese's  business  relations  which,  though  it  still 
claimed  his  allegiance  to  books,  opened  to  him  a  new 
field  and  inaugurated  a  new  career.  For  it  was  about 
this  period  that  he  severed  his  connection  with  the  Col 
linses,  and  entered  the  co-partnership  of  Cooley,  Keese 
&  Hill,  the  business  being  the  selling  of  books  at  auc 
tion,  an  enterprise  destined  to  widely  influence  the  cir 
culation  of  literature,  and  in  commercial  magnitude  to 
surpass  all  expectation. 

The  firm  was  at  first  located  at  what  was  then  No. 
157  Broadway;  but  the  rapid  growth  of  its  affairs 
soon  necessitated  a  removal  to  more  spacious  quar 
ters  ;  and  the  rooms  at  No.  191  Broadway,  corner  of 
Dey  Street,  were  taken,  the  second  floor  serving  as  the 
sales-room  and  counting-house.  It  was  there  that  the 
auctioneer,  during  an  entertainment  given  to  the  trade 
in  celebration  of  the  new  establishment,  made  the  fol- 


60  MEMOIR  OF 

lowing  announcement :  "  Gentlemen,  we  are  casting 
our  bread  upon  the  waters,  and  expect  to  find  it  after 
many  days — buttered!"  There  for  years  were  held 
the  semi-annual  trade-sales,  until  the  firm  *  moved  to 
its  final  home  in  the  splendid  building  at  No.  377 
Broadway,  corner  of  White  Street,  where  it  continued 
to  its  dissolution  in  1853  or  1854. 

"Mr.  Keese's  accession  to  the  firm  "-wrote  one 
who  knew  him  at  the  time — "  was  undoubtedly  in 
vited  by  the  other  partners,  from  a  knowledge  of  his 
immense  acquaintance  with  both  books  and  men,  and 
probably  from  the  additional  fancy  that  his  wit  and 
readiness  would  be  found  of  great  advantage  at  the 
auctioneer's  desk,  which  post  he  at  once  assumed,  and 
where,  within  less  than  a  year,  he  threw  into  the 
shade,  from  the  exercise  of  his  predominant  qualities, 
any  American  auctioneer  who  had  preceded  him,  as 
well  as  established  a  reputation  somewhat  closely  ap 
proaching  in  prominence,  and  far  excelling  in  the  de 
tails  of  wit  and  enjoyability,  that  of  George  Robins  in 
London." 

The  criticism  is  just.  The  celebrated  George  Rob 
ins  was  not,  from  all  I  can  gather,  remarkable  as  an 
auctioneer  thoroughly  well  read  in  what  came  under 
his  hammer,  and  endowed  with  a  wit  that  amplified 
suggestion  and  illumined  dull  inanities  ;  nor  ready,  on 
the  instant,  with  felicitous  word-play  and  repartee. 
His  celebrity  arose  from  his  inimitable  presentment, 

*  Cooley  &  Keese,  Mr.  Hill  having  retired  previously. 


JOHN  KEESE.  6 1 

as  a  whole,  of  the  thing  to  be  vended ;  his  auction 
prospectus  couched  in  terms  so  captivating  that  even 
hyperbole  became  charming,  and  what  was  impossible 
seemed  easy  and  natural.  Tom  Hood  sings  of  one — 

"  The  whole  of  whose  birthright  would  not  fetch, 
Though  Robins  himself  drew  up  the  sketch, 
The  bid  of  *  a  mess  of  pottage.' " 

Everybody  has  heard  the  story  of  how  Robins,  after 
exhausting  the  language  of  praise  in  extolling  a  gen 
tleman's  park  which  was  to  come  under  his  hammer, 
stated  that  he  was  bound,  as  an  honest  man,  not  to  con 
ceal  the  drawbacks  to  the  property,  which  were  "the 
litter  made  by  the  rose-leaves  and  the  perpetual  din  of 
the  nightingales."  It  was  in  such  delicious  pleasantries 
that  Robins  excelled  ;  but  it  probably  never  would  have 
occurred  to  him  to  reply  to  a  purchaser,  complaining 
that  his  book  was  damaged,  "  Damaged,  you  say  ?  Yes, 
a  little  wet  on  the  outside  ;  but  you'll  find  it  dry  enough 
within."  Or,  to  a  suspicious  bidder,  asking,  "  Is  that 
binding  calf  ?  " — "  Come  up,  my  good  sir,  put  your  hand 
on  it,  and  see  if  there  is  any  fellow-feeling." 

It  is  not,  in  the  foregoing,  specially  designed  to  in 
stitute  a  comparison  between  the  auctioneers.  None 
is  needed,  could  one  be  drawn.  Each  had  his  sphere 
and  method  ;  each  was  distinct  in  attributes  and  per 
formance. 

Certain  it  is,  however,  that  Mr.  Keese  brought  to 
the  auctioneer's  pulpit  higher  qualities  than  are  usually 


62  MEMOIR  OF 

found  in  that  vocation.  It  seems  fitting-  at  this  point 
to  notice  the  tributes  paid  to  his  abilities  by  those 
who  knew  him,  and  who  were  well  qualified  to 
judge. 

"  I  have  the  recollection  of  him  " — wrote  the  late 
Evert  A.  Duyckinck — "as  the  wittiest  book -auction 
eer  of  his  day  in  New  York,  and  it  may  be  said  of 
any  day,  for  there  is  no  tradition  of  any  predecessor 
of  such  powers,  and  he  certainly  left  no  successor  in 
his  peculiar  vein.  This  may  be  said  without  dispar 
agement  to  the  intellectual  cleverness  of  the  Sabins,* 
Leavitts,  and  Merwins  of  the  present  day — for  Keese 
was  really  an  extraordinary  man,  in  the  humorous  hand 
ling  of  books  and  an  audience,  enlivening  a  sales-room 
on  the  dullest  of  wet  nights  and  under  the  most  disad 
vantageous  circumstances  with  the  brilliancy  of  his 
wit.  Few  who  attended  his  '  sales  '  did  not  carry  away 
with  them  some  recollection  of  his  sparkling  genius. 
It  must  have  been  a  most  impracticable  book  which 
did  not  in  its  subject,  the  name  or  associates  of  its  au 
thor,  furnish  some  opportunity  for  his  pleasantry ;  and 
if  these  fell  short  he  could  eke  out  his  merriment  with 
some  innocent  play  upon  his  audience." 

The  "  peculiar  vein "  mentioned  was  an  illuminat 
ing  wit  that  played  electrically  upon  every  subject  it 
touched,  flashed  light  into  nooks  and  corners,  invest 
ed  dull  commonplaces  with  a  hue  of  glorv,  and  turned 
unmeaning  or  ambiguous  title-pages  into  sudden  and 

*  Mr.   Duyckinck  wrote  in   1877.     Mr.  Joseph  Sabin,  the  distinguished 
bibliographer,  died  in  1881. 


JOHN  KEESE.  63 

felicitous  revelations.  Add  to  this  a  wide  knowledge 
of  books  and  authors,  an  exceptional  memory,  a  keen 
perception  of  every  vantage-ground,  and,  above  all,  a 
celerity  in  retort  that  was  surprising — and  you  have 
an  intellectual  equipment  rarely  found  in  the  posses 
sion  of  an  auctioneer. 

Selling  a  black-letter  volume  "  Concerning  the  Ap 
parel  of  Ministers,"  he  supposed  it  referred  probably 
to  their  "  surplus  ornaments  " ;  and  he  assured  his  au 
dience  that  the  poems  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Logan  were 
the  "  '  Banks  and  Braes  of  Bonnie  Boon  ' — at  all  events 
the  brays." 

"  There  was  no  quarter  at  the  battle  of  Waterloo, 
my  dear  sir,"  he  said  to  a  bidder  of  twenty-five  cents 
for  a  narrative  of  that  conflict.  "  Really,  this  is  too 
much  pork  for  a  shilling,"  was  his  pathetic  remark  at 
the  sacrifice  of  a  copy  of  Bacon's  essays  for  twelve 
and  a  half  cents.  "Going  —  going  —  gentlemen  —  ten 
cents  for  Caroline  Fry  —  why,  it  isn't  the  price  of  a 
stew !  "  (a  jest  prompted,  perhaps,  by  a  thought  of  the 
supper  awaiting  him  at  Bowling's,  in  Wall  Street) ; 
and  the  same  reflection  probably  suggested  his  inter 
pretation  of  the  title  F.  R.  S.  —  "  Fried,  Roasted,  and 
Stewed." 

"  Give  the  gentleman  his  book,"  he  said,  when  an 
impatient  buyer  of  Watts's  hymns  disturbed  the  sale  by 
clamoring  for  delivery — "  he  wishes  to  learn  and  sing 
one  of  the  hymns  before  he  goes  to  bed  to-night "  ; 
and,  on  knocking  down  another  copy  of  the  honored 
book,  he  ventured  the  parody : 


64  AfEMOIR  OF 

» 

"  Blest  is  the  man  who  shuns  the  place 

Where  other  auctions  be, 
And  has  his  money  in  his  fist, 
And  buys  his  books  of  me  !  " 

A  volume  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Hawks  was  accompanied 
by  the  quiet  observation,  "A  bird  of  pray,  gentle 
men."  He  knocked  down  Dagley's  "  Death's  Doings  " 
for  seventy-five  cents  "to  a  decayed  apothecary,"  with 
the  consolatory  comment  of  "  smallest  fevers  grateful 
ly  received  " ;  and  introduced  a  volume  of  impossible 
verse  with,  "  This  is  a  book  "  (glancing  at  the  biograph 
ical  sketch)  "  by  a  poor  and  pious  girl — who  wrote  poor 
and  pious  poetry." 

The  following  story  of  how  the  name  of  the  au 
thor  of  "  Woodman,  spare  that  Tree  "  helped  him  to  win 
over  an  audience  and  sell  an  impracticable  book,  went 
the  rounds  at  the  time.  The  occasion,  I  think,  was 
when  Colman's  old  Curiosity-Shop  in  Broadway  was 
sold  out. 

"  Here,"  said  the  auctioneer,  presenting  an  antique- 
looking  volume — "here,  gentlemen,  is  a  rare  and  valu 
able  work  —  a  collection  of  poems,  odes,  and  all  that 
kind  of  thing,  addressed  to  the  heroes  and  sages  of  the 
Revolution,  and  wedding  to  immortal  verse  the  heroic 
events  of  that  memorable  epoch.  These  brilliant  affairs 
emanated  from  the  poet  Armstrong,  who  in  the  early 
days  of  the  republic  contended  with  Joel  Barlow  and 
other  choice  geniuses  for  the  laurel-wreath  of  poetry  ! 
A  great  poet,  gentlemen!  A  wonderful  man!  How 


JOHN  KEESE.  65 

much  shall  I  say  for    this    copy  of    his  works?      Very 
scarce  ! " 

A  Maecenas  in  the  room,  in  an  outburst  of  enthusi 
astic  generosity,  bid  "  twenty-five  cents,"  and  not  a 
soul  seemed  inclined  to  advance  upon  it.  "  Only  twenty- 
five  cents  !  Such  an  offer  is  an  insult  to  genius.  Recol 
lect,  this  Armstrong  was  one  of  the  first  American 
poets,  celebrated  in  his  day,  though  perhaps  somewhat 
neglected  in  ours.  He  was  a  sort  of  Homer  of  the 
Revolution — the  American  Homer — think  of  that !  How 
much  for  this  rare  copy  of  the  American  Homer  ?  " 

But  the  purchasers  were  deaf  to  the  voice  of  the 
charmer.  The  " American  Homer"  could  not  extort 
another  dime  from  the  unpoetical  assembly. 

"  Who  knows,"  resumed  the  auctioneer,  "  but  in  after- 
years  this  man  may  be  regarded  by  our  posterity  as  the 
Virgil  or  Horace  of  the  New  World?  Taste  is  capri 
cious;  but  let  it  never  be  said  that  in  the  nineteenth 
century  American  citizens  suffered  the  only  volume  of 
Armstrong's  powerful  and  exquisite  poems  to  go  beg 
ging  at  twenty-five  cents  !  " 

But  the  names  of  Virgil  and  Horace  awakened  no 
more  enthusiasm  than  that  of  Homer  had  done.  The 
auctioneer  looked  round  on  the  blank  array  of  faces, 
and  was  about  to  knock  down  the  book  in  despair, 
when  another  thought  struck  him,  and  he  resolved  on 
one  more  essay. 

"  Bear  in  mind,"  he  said,  "  that  this  Armstrong  was 
the  General  George  P.  Morris  of  his  period.  Like  him, 
he  was  a  hero  and  the  laureate  of  heroes.  He  held  a 


66  MEMOIR  OF 

high  military  commission,  and  wrote  impassioned,  sen 
timental,  and  warlike  songs  on  various  themes.  Like 
him,  he  combined  in  his  own  person  the  excellence  of 
Pindar,  Horace,  and  Tom  Moore.  Shall  the  works  of 
the  George  P.  Morris  of  the  Revolution  go  for  twenty- 
five  cents  ?  Forbid  it  patriotism  !  forbid  it  taste  !  forbid 
it  refinement !  " 

The  auctioneer  "  hit  the  right  nail  on  the  head  "  this 
time.  This  last  appeal  roused  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
bidders. 

"  Three  shillings  !  "  cried  one. 

"  Fifty  cents  !  "  cried  another. 

For  fifty  cents  it  went ;  and  to  the  fame  of  Gen 
eral  Morris  belonged  the  credit  of  extracting  a  quarter 
of  a  dollar  from  pockets  that  were  closed  against  the 
several  appeals  of  Homer,  Virgil,  and  Horace. 

In  glancing  over  old  papers,  I  am  surprised  to 
find  so  many  tributes  to  my  father's  powers  of  en 
tertainment.  It  would  seem  that  in  his  day  his  qual 
ities  were  deemed  really  phenomenal ;  and  one  of 
his  admirers  declared :  "  If  John  Keese  should  quit 
the  auctioneer  business,  I  should  die  of  ennui.  It 
would  be  a  public  calamity.  He  always  looks  to  me 
like  the  ghost  of  Sheridan  grown  sick  of  Parliament, 
and  just  emigrated,  and  set  up  in  the  book-auction 
business  in  New  York  as  a  sort  of  practical  joke  on 
himself." 

It  was,  then,  a  perfectly  natural  question  for  Mr. 
James  Linen — in  his  poem  of  "The  Auctioneer" — to 
ask: 


JOHN  KEESE.  67 

"Who  lives  in  old  Gotham  in  comfort  and  ease, 
And  knows  not  the  wit  and  wag,  Auctioneer  Keese?" 

And  the  late  Mr.  James  T.  Fields,  then  of  the  firm  of 
Ticknor  &  Fields,  in  his  rapidly  penned  verses  after 
one  of  the  trade-sales,  pleasantly  sang : 

"  But  all  were  gay,  and  every  one 

Before  the  feast  agrees 
That,  when  he  wants  for  food  or  fun, 
He'll  shake  a  bunch  of  Keese." 

To  quote  again  from  Mr.  Duyckinck  :  "  An  auction 
eer  is  bound  to  hold  his  own  against  all  interlocutors. 
He  is  liable  to  all  sorts  of  questioning  and  interrup 
tions  ;  but  much  of  his  success  depends  upon  the  main 
tenance  of  his  powers  in  his  seat  of  authority,  his  ele 
vated  pulpit.  It  is  his  business  to  control  the  audi 
ences  and  their  purses.  To  do  this  he  must  keep  his 
company  in  good  humor,  and  least  of  all  suffer  any  in 
tellectual  discomfiture.  Keese  never  lost  this  superior 
ity.  It  was  dangerous,  unless  particularly  well  armed, 
to  enter  into  a  contest  with  him.  Any  interruption  of 
the  business  of  the  room  was  sure  to  be  met  by  him, 
when  no  mischief  was  intended,  in  some  gentle,  play 
ful  way ;  but  at  the  approach  of  anything  like  inso 
lence  the  rebuke  was  severe." 

A  memorable  instance  of  deserved  punishment  is 
related  by  Mr.  Richard  Grant  White,  in  one  of  his  notes 
to  the  American  edition  of  "  The  Book- Hunter." 
Speaking  of  the  auctioneer,  Mr.  White  says :  "  He  was 


68  MEMOIR  OF 

courageous,  too,  as  well  as  ready.  At  a  sale  of  unusual 
interest,  attention  was  attracted  by  the  presence  and 
the  purchases  of  a  notorious  political  bully,  then  in  office, 
and  since  rewarded  with  a  better  place.  The  creature 
was  as  innocent  of  humane  letters  as  of  humanity  of 
any  other  kind,  and  bought  for  some  political  satrap  of 
higher  culture,  in  whose  service  he  was  retained.  He 
claimed  a  curious  and  valuable  book  which  had  been 
knocked  down  to  the  bid  of  another  person.  This  was 
explained  to  him  in  vain,  and  he  began  at  once  to  be 
abusive.  It  was  then  offered  to  put  up  the  book  again. 
But  he  refused  consent  to  this  arrangement,  and  began 
to  threaten,  exclaiming  that  he  *  asked  justice,  and  meant 
to  have  it.'  '  Sir,'  instantly  replied  Keese,  in  a  distinct, 
low  voice,  as  he  fixed  his  steel  gray  eye  upon  the  bully, 
who  could  have  torn  his  slight  little  form  to  pieces, 
'I  know  no  man  who  deserves  justice  more  than  you 
do,  and  I  heartily  wish  that  you  may  get  it.'  The  ani 
mal's  hide  was  not  proof  against  that  dart.  He  turned 
livid  with  impotent  rage,  and  slunk  silently  away." 

The  late  Mr.  Gowans  was  a  familiar  auditor  at  the 
sales,  and  bought  extensively.  He  was  very  fond  of 
calling  the  auctioneer  out  by  putting  questions  con 
cerning  the  book  in  hand,  and  the  answers  were  always 
forthcoming.  A  work  entitled  "  History  of  the  Tatars  " 
was  offered.  "  Is  not  that  Tartars?"  asked  Gowans. 
"  No,  their  wives  were  the  Tartars,"  was  the  immediate 
reply. 

Sonic  prayer -books  were  selling,  and  Gowans,  as 
was  his  wont,  interrupted  the  rapid  vocalization  with, 


JOHN  KEESE.  69 

"  Are  they  in  English  ?  "  As  quick  as  gunpowder  came 
the  answer :  "  Of  course  they  are.  Do  you  suppose  a 
man  is  going  to  pray  in  Irish  ?  " 

An  illustration  of  his  readiness  was  when  a  parcel 
of  fancy  envelopes  was  passed  up,  to  be  sold  in  one  lot. 
"  How  many  are  there  ? "  was  shouted  from  various 
parts  of  the  room.  "  Oh,  I  don't  know ;  too  many  to 
number — how  much  for  the  lot?"  At  last  they  were 
knocked  down.  "What  name?"  "Cowper!"  "It 
shall  be  Cowper's  'Task'  to  count  them,"  instantly  ex 
claimed  the  auctioneer. 

A  joke  much  relished  by  the  book-binding  fraternity 
was  his  likening  a  ledger  to  Austria,  because  it  was 
backed  and  cornered  by  Russia ;  and,  when  it  was 
knocked  down  to  a  Mr.  Owen  Phalen,  he  paused  at  the 
name  and  said  reflectively,  "  Don't  know  about  selling 
to  a  man  who  is  always  Owen  and  Phalen." 

He  was  felicitous  in  the  application  of  a  familiar 
quotation.  Presiding  over  a  consignment  of  furniture, 
which  somehow  had  invaded  the  more  legitimate  busi 
ness,  he  appealed  over  a  coveted  article  to  a  hesitating 
housekeeper,  "  Going — going — '  the  woman  who  delib 
erates  is  lost ' — gone !  " 

At  one  of  such  sales  a  table  of  curious  design  was 
sold  to  a  bidder  who  left  it  to  be  called  for.  Some 
time  elapsed,  when  a  friend  happening  in  admired  the 
table  and  wished  to  buy  it  at  private  sale.  He  was 
told  that  it  was  sold  to  a  party  who  thus  far  had  proved 
himself  one  of  the  most  un-com-for-table  of  men. 

I  remember,  when  a  lot  of  Wade  &  Butcher's  Shef- 


70  MEMOIR  OF 

tickl  razors  was  included  in  the  catalogue,  the  auctioneer 
said  that  there  was  no  limit  to  their  sanguinary  possi 
bilities,  for  the  buyer  might  "  wade  in  blood  and  butcher 
all  his  friends."  "  Never  mind,  you'll  have  one  volume 
less  to  read,"  he  said  to  a  bidder  who  found  his  set  of 
books  short ;  and  when  another  wanted  to  know  where 
the  outside  of  his  copy  of  Lamb  was,  the  auctioneer 
conjectured  that  "  somebody  had  fleeced  it,"  adding 
consolingly,  "  But  you  can  recover  it,  you  know."  A 
back-gammon  board  was  put  up,  "  to  be  sold  on  the 
square,  and  as  perfect  as  any  copy  of  Milton  " — which 
comparison  necessitated  the  explanation  that  there  was 
"  a  pair  o'  dice  lost "  ;  and  "  Three  Eras  of  a  Woman's 
Life  "  elicited  the  running  comment,  "  Wonderful  wom 
an — only  three  errors  !  How  much  ? — thirty  cents — 
only  ten  cents  apiece — not  very  .rpensive  errors,  after 
all." 

The  feat  of  jotting  down  a  report  of  my  father's  run 
of  words  at  an  evening  sale  was  once  accomplished  by 
it  short-hand  writer;  and  I  reproduce  it  here  as  a  fair 
sample  of  the  auctioneer's  spirit  when  under  the  in 
spiration  of  the  hammer. 

"N'alf,  n'alf,  n'alf;  three  do  I  have?  three,  three; 
quarter,  did  you  say?  Never  let  me  hear  an  Irishman 
cry  quarter.  N'alf,  n'alf;  knocked  down  to  Maguire 
at  three  dollars  and  a  half.  Now,  gentlemen,  give  me 
a  bid  for  '  Hallam's  Middle  Ages',  intended  for  gentle 
men  in  the  prime  of  life.  Two  dollars,  two,  two;  an 
eighth,  eighth,  eighth  ;  quarter,  quarter,  quarter — Mof- 
fat,  at  two  dollars  and  a  quarter.  The  next  thing, 


JOHN  KEESE.  7! 

gentlemen,  is  *  The  Four  Last  Things,  by  Dr.  Bates.' 
Fifty  cents,  fifty — *  What  are  they  ?  '  Bid  away,  gentle 
men,  the  book'll  tell  you  exactly  what  they  are :  five 
eighths,  five  eighths;  five  and  six.  Chase  has  it,  at 
five  and  six.  Start,  if  you  please,  gentlemen,  on  '  Prot 
estant  Discussions,  by  Dr.  Cummings,'  an  original 
D.  D. — none  of  your  modern  fiddle-dee-dees :  three 
quarters,  quarters ;  seven  eighths ;  do  I  have  seven 
eighths? — yes,  it  is  all  complete;  a  perfect  book,  gen 
tlemen  ;  wants  nothing  but  a  reader.  Dollar ;  dollar, 
n'eighth,  n'eighth.  Black  has  it,  at  a  dollar  and  an 
eighth.  Now,  gentlemen,  I  offer  you  a  superb  *  Prayer 
Book,'  Appletons'  edition,  best  morocco,  gilt  all  over, 
like  the  sinner ;  three  quarters,  three  quarters,  quarters, 
quarters — look  at  it,  gentlemen.  Here,  sir,  let  me  show 
it  up  to  this  goodly  company  ;  you've  looked  at  it  many 
a  time  with  more  care  than  profit :  seven  eighths ;  dol 
lar  ;  n'eighth ;  quarter,  quarter  —  large  print,  gentle 
men  ;  good  for  those  whose  eyes  are  weak  and  whose 
faith  is  strong ;  remember  your  grandmothers,  gentle 
men — three  eighths,  three  eighths.  Brown  has  it,  at 
one  and  three  eighths.  Now,  gentlemen,  I  come  to  a 
line  of  splendid  illustrated  English  books.  Be  so  kind 
as  to  bid  for  '  Finden's  Beauties  of  Moore,'  cloth  extra, 
full  of  superb  illustrations,  and  I've  how  much  bid  for 
this?  Start,  if  you  please;  go  on.  Two  dollars;  and 
a  half,  n'alf,  n'alf ;  three,  three ;  n'alf,  n'alf ;  four,  four, 
four.  These  are  all  English  books,  printed  in  England, 
bound  in  England,  and  sacrificed  in  America ;  and  I 
have  only  four  dollars  for  this  superb  book — quarter, 


72  MEMOIR  OF 

quarter,  quarter,  and  this  goes  to  Maguire,  at  four 
dollars  and  a  quarter.  '  The  Gems  of  Beauty '  is  the 
next  book,  gentlemen.  This  is  a  glowing  book,  beauti 
ful  as  Venus,  and  bound  by  Vulcan  in  his  best  days, 
red  morocco,  well  read  outside,  gentlemen,  and  what 
do  I  hear  for  that?  Fifty  cents— horrible !  Two  dol 
lars,  by  some  gentleman  whose  feelings  are  outraged  ; 
quarter,  quarter  ;  half,  shall  I  say  ?  Cash  has  it,  at  two 
dollars  and  a  half.  Now,  gentlemen,  for  the  '  Philo 
sophical  Works  of  John  Locke,'  best  edition,  opened  by 
John  Keese;  start,  if  you  please — goon.  Dollar;  n'alf, 
n'alf;  three  quarters.  ' Bound  in  muslin.''  Yes,  sir; 
don't  you  respect  the  cloth?  Seven  eighths,  seven 
eighths;  two,  two,  two;  quarter,  quarter — brought 
three  dollars  the  other  day.  'No,  it  didn't!"  Well, 
one  just  like  it  did.  Moffat  takes  it,  at  two  dollars  and 
a  quarter.  Now  for  a  beautiful  annual,  gentlemen, 
'  The  Ladies'  Diadem,'  splendid  steel  engravings,  and 
no  date,  may  be  1855,  6,  7,  or  8.  Can't  tell;  they  pub 
lish  them  so  much  in  advance  nowadays.  What  do  I 
luar?  seventy-five,  seventy-five;  new  book,  published 
in  England;  dollar,  dollar;  eighth,  do  I  hear?  eighth; 
quarter ;  three  eighths,  three  eighths — down.  What's 
the  name  ?  whose  bid  is  that  ?  Well,  just  as  you  please  ; 
quarter,  quarter — that's  your  bid,  sir;  'gainst  you,  out 
there;  three  eighths — that's  yours,  sir;  what's  the 
name  ?  '  /'//  take  it ;  you  seem  to  be  very  anxious  to  sell  /'/.' 
No,  sir,  I'm  not  on  the  anxious-bench  ;  those  are  the 
anxious-seats  where  you  are.  I  take  a  decided  stand 
on  that ;  I  face  the  whole  congregation.  Go  on,  if  you 


JOHN  KEESE.  73 

please.  The  next  book,  *  Kirke  White's  Remains,'  Lon 
don  edition,  with  splendid  portrait,  taken  from  some 
old  daguerreotype ;  dollar,  dollar,  dollar,  and  down  it 
goes.  Who'll  have  it?  Well,  start  it,  gentlemen. 
What  do  I  hear  ?  seventy-five  cents ;  seven  eighths, 
seven  eighths ;  dollar,  by  all  the  house ;  n'eighth, 
n'eighth.  Cash  has  it,  at  a  dollar  and  an  eighth ;  hor 
rible  !  I've  been  the  high-priest  of  many  a  sacrifice. 
Now,  gentlemen,  who  wants  '  Ross's  Last  Expedition  '  ? 
went  to  the  poles,  and,  no  doubt,  voted  twice.  Start, 
if  you  please — go  on  ;  dollar,  did  you  say  ?  quarter, 
quarter,  quarter;  bidder  here,  half,  half" — and  so  on 
through  the  catalogue. 

It  is  no  wonder  that  people  flocked  to  the  evening 
sales ;  and  I  have  heard  many  say  that  to  go  there  was 
as  good  as  a  play ;  so  that  the  late  William  E.  Burton, 
to  whom  in  after-years  my  father  became  warmly  at 
tached,  whose  theatre  was  then  in  Chambers  Street, 
regarded  the  auction-room  of  Cooley  &  Keese  as  no  con 
temptible  rival.  And  here  I  am  reminded  of  an  experi 
ence  related  by  the  famous  comedian,  which,  although 
a  tale  of  his  own  crushing  discomfiture,  was  told  with 
great  relish.  The  story  is  new,  and  is  really  too  good 
to  be  lost. 

It  annoyed  Burton  very  much  when,  in  the  tag  end  of 
the  play,  certain  of  the  audience  began  the  bustle  of  de 
parture,  and  he  determined  to  embrace  the  first  oppor 
tunity  to  administer  a  public  rebuke.  He  had  not  long 
to  wait.  One  evening,  toward  the  close  of  the  piece,  the 
characters  standing  in  order  for  the  epilogue,  an  auditor 


74  MEMOIR  OF 

arose  in  the  gallery-front  and  began  to  button  up  his 
coat.  The  comedian  left  his  place  and  stepped  to  the 
foot-lights.  "  Excuse  me,  sir,  but  the  play  is  not  fin 
ished,  and  you  disturb  the  audience.  Have  the  good 
ness  to  sit  down."  The  stranger,  without  pausing  in  his 
preparation,  promptly  replied:  " Can't  help  it.  I've 
listened  to  your  infernal  trash  long  enough,  and  now 
I'm  going."  "And  what  did  you  say,  Burton?"  ex 
claimed  the  late  Henry  Placide,  who  was  one  of  the 
amused  group.  "  Harry,"  said  Burton,  with  an  air  of 
complete  humiliation,  "  I  couldn't  say  a  -  -  word ! " 
My  father  was  quite  right  in  thinking  that  the  actor 
received  on  that  occasion  emphatically  a  curtain-lec 
ture. 

A  few  words  more  with  regard  to  Mr.  Keese's  value 
as  an  auctioneer.  A  man  of  his  knowledge  and  ability 
was  something  entirely  new  in  that  capacity,  and  his 
qualities  could  not  fail  to  make  an  impression  upon  con 
temporary  publishers.  The  success  which  attended  the 
semi-annual  trade-sales  was  largely  due  to  his  compre 
hensive  management  of  their  important  details,  and  his 
zealous  attention  to  the  interests  of  all  concerned.  I 
may  be  pardoned  for  quoting  from  an  editorial  article 
in  a  New  York  paper  of  the  period,  under  the  heading 
"  Our  City  Trade-Sales,"  the  following  ^CIUTOUS  trib 
ute.  After  remarking  on  the  extent  of  a  late  sale  (the 
largest  that  had  taken  place  at  the  time),  the  article  pro 
ceeds  :  "  We  can  not,  however,  refrain  from  a  word  or 
two  on  this  subject  with  reference  to  the  minor  causes 
which  help  to  produce  such  extensive  business  transac- 


JOHN  KEESE.  75 

tions.  It  is  well  known  that  in  a  trade-sale  there  is 
something  more  than  capital  required  to  carry  on  the 
sale.  Money,  it  is  true,  as  the  old  saying  is,  begets 
money :  but,  never  to  such  extent  as  when  it  is  aided 
and  directed  by  the  capital  of  the  mind.  This  is  to  be 
clearly  seen  in  the  case  of  the  late  trade-sale.  A  large 
amount  of  money  capital  was  undoubtedly  invested — 
no  house,  perhaps,  is  ready  to  invest  a  larger  in  the 
same  range  of  business ;  but,  to  the  unceasing,  indefati 
gable,  and  persevering  efforts  of  the  auctioneer  him 
self,  Mr.  John  Keese,  is  to  be  attributed  a  main  cause  of 
so  extensive  a  sale  having  taken  place.  With  reference 
to  Mr.  Keese  personally  we  have  no  interest :  we  know 
him  only  from  report,  and  that  report,  emanating  from 
men  whose  dealings  at  the  trade-sales  have  been  con 
stant,  is  strong  concerning  him.  It  may  seem,  indeed, 
a  matter  of  indifference  who  may  take  upon  himself  to 
arrange  a  sale  and  offer  books  to  public  competition. 
But  in  truth  it  is  not  so.  It  is  of  great  importance  to 
all  concerned  that  the  man,  who  at  such  times  places 
himself  in  the  rostrum  of  the  auctioneer,  should  himself 
be  well  acquainted  with  all  the  minutiae  of  the  business, 
and  should  be  perfectly  familiar  with  the  books,  both 
externally  and  internally,  that  pass  through  his  hands  ; 
and,  not  only  that,  but  should  also  be  possessed  of  that 
particular  tact  and  ability  which  enable  him  to  keep  his 
audience  constantly  with  him  in  fresh  and  cheerful  com 
pany.  In  Mr.  Keese  we  have  in  our  visits  to  these  sales 
noticed  these  qualifications  particularly.  We  have,  more 
over,  been  at  times  delightfully  surprised  on  witnessing 


76  MEMOIR  OF 

the  natural  and  easy  manner  with  which  he  carried  on  the 
sale  without  the  slightest  forcing  for  effect,  and  the  light 
and  life  with  which  he  managed  to  disperse  its  monoto 
nous  character,  diffusing  cheerfulness  over  all  his  hear 
ers.  There  were  flashes  of  brilliant  wit  and  sentiment 
ever  emanating  from  him  ;  and  the  occasional  lively  rep 
artee  tended  to  produce  in  the  room  that  good  humor 
and  feeling  so  essential,  while  it  drew  upon  him  hearty 
marks  of  applause.  Then,  again,  his  sound  acquaint 
ance  with  every  branch  of  literary  work  was  evident ; 
his  knowledge  of  the  value  of  a  book,  its  wrorth  intrinsi 
cally,  and  its  marketable  price  in  the  store ;  his  familiar 
ity  with  the  writings  of  the  Eastern  sages  and  classic 
Greeks,  the  Latin  orators,  and  the  learned  of  modern 
times  ;  his  apt  quotations  and  remarks  concerning  living 
authors — all  of  which  tended  to  convince  us  that  supe 
riority  of  intellect,  of  education  and  experience,  pre 
eminently  adapted  Mr.  Keese  for  the  position  he  had 
assumed;  and  it  was  also  clear  that  he  possessed  that 
practical  knowledge  of  business,  that  promptitude  and 
activity  of  habit,  which  are  essential  to  all  who  seek 
success ;  and  we  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  he 
assuredly  deserves  it.  His  visits  to  the  various  cities  of 
the  Union,  in  connection  with  the  trade- -sales,  have 
caused  him  to  be  well  known  in  many  places,  and  every 
where  to  be  esteemed ;  and  we  have  thought  it  right  to 
allude  thus  personally  to  him,  because  we  always  like 
to  see  the  energy  and  perseverance  of  a  fellow-citizen 
properly  appreciated  and  understood.  That  this  is  so 
with  reference  to  Mr.  Kcese  the  trade  in  the  late  sale 


JOHN  KEESE.  77 

have  undoubtedly  admitted.  Confidence  in  his  name 
was  felt  by  every  buyer;  and  the  same  feeling  existed 
in  the  minds  of  all  those  gentlemen  who  semi-annually 
offer  their  books  to  public  sale  through  him  and  the 
well-known  house  with  which  he  is  connected.  Most 
cordially  do  we  wish  him  a  continuance  of  that  success 
which  his  persevering  efforts  are  so  much  entitled  to." 

I  can  not  repress  an  emotion  of  pride  while  penning 
the  foregoing,  and  my  thanks  are  recorded  here  to  the 
unknown  writer  for  so  feeling  and  so  appreciative  a  trib 
ute. 

The  out-of-town  visits  referred  to  were  always  a 
source  of  pleasure  to  Mr.  Keese,  for,  while  they  extended 
his  business  connections,  they  also  brought  him  into 
familiar  intercourse  with  prominent  publishers  and  men 
of  letters,  and  many  valued  friendships  grew  out  of  the 
association.  This  was  particularly  the  case  in  Boston 
and  Philadelphia.  In  the  former  city  he  was  introduced 
to  Longfellow,  Holmes,  and  others  of  the  Boston  literati. 
We  have  in  our  possession  an  elegant  edition  of  Longfel 
low's  ballads,  a  gift  from  the  poet  himself,  containing  on 
the  fly-leaf  the  sixth  verse  of  "  The  Psalm  of  Life,"  writ 
ten  there  by  the  revered  author's  own  hand.  What  a 
treasure  the  volume  has  now  become  I  need  not  say ! 

The  kind  offices  of  the  late  James  T.  Fields  were  of 
great  value  to  my  father  in  those  days,  and  many  an  intro 
duction  to  men  of  note  he  owed  to  Mr.  Fields's  friendly 
interest.  I  have  always  fancied  that  much  intellectual 
sympathy  existed  between  the  two.  They  were  about 
the  same  age  ;  their  qualities  of  mind  were  not  unlike ; 


78  MEMOIR  OF 

they  were  equally  interested  in  letters,  and  full  of  enthu 
siasm  respecting  their  favorite  authors  and  the  literary 
guild  generally.  The  aspirations  of  Mr.  Fields  were 
more  than  answered.  It  fell  to  his  lot  to  enjoy  the  ac 
quaintance,  if  not  the  friendship,  of  more  literary  people 
of  eminence  than  any  American  of  his  time  ;  and  he  died 
full  of  years,  beloved  and  lamented ;  but  not  before  hav 
ing  given  to  the  reading  public  a  record  of  delightful 
memories.* 

Philadelphia,  though  by  no  means  the  haunt  of  au 
thors  as  compared  with  Boston,  was  a  pleasant  place  to 
visit,  and  Mr.  Keese's  relations  with  the  publishers  there 
were  always  cordial.  Undoubtedly  his  name  is  still  re 
membered  by  many  of  the  old  houses.  I  am  reminded  of 
a  ludicrous  incident  he  was  witness  of  on  one  of  his  visits, 
which,  on  account  of  its  professional  flavor,  amused  him 
greatly.  Strolling  out  at  evening,  he  came  to  a  street 
where  he  found  a  little  auction-store  in  full  blast,  and 
with  fraternal  interest  dropped  in,  to  see  what  was  going 
on.  A  fiddle  was  "  going  "  in  the  hands  of  the  auction 
eer:  "How  much  for  this  very  fine  fiddle?  —  how 
much? — dollar — going — and  a  half — shall  I  have  three- 
quarters? — dollar  and  a  half — going — gone!  Now,  gen 
tlemen,  we'll  sell  the  bow  !  "  "  \Vhy,  I  thought  I  bought 
the  bow  with  the  fiddle,"  exclaimed  the  amazed  bidder. 
"  From  the  country,  I  presume,  my  friend,"  replied  the 
auctioneer,  with  bland  politeness ;  and  the  bow,  1  believe, 
was  knocked  down  as  a  separate  lot.  He  used  to  tell 
this  story  with  great  glee;  and  it  is  quite  probable  that 

*  "  Yesterdays  with  Authors." 


JOHN  KEESE.  79 

had  a  fiddle  and  bow  ever  been  included  in  an  invoice  to 
Cooley  &  Keese,  he  would  have  found  it  hard  to  resist 
the  temptation  to  experiment  upon  his  audience  with 
the  tactics  of  his  Philadelphia  brother. 

Mention  has  been  made  of  Mr.  Burton,  the  famous 
comedian.  He  was  also  a  Shakespearean  scholar,  a  man 
of  letters  to  some  extent,  a  lover  of  books,  and  the  pos 
sessor  of  one  of  the  finest  private  libraries  in  the  coun 
try.  Naturally,  catalogues  of  all  sales  of  interest  and 
value  were  sent  to  him,  and  my  father  kept  him  in 
formed  with  respect  to  the  character  and  desirability  of 
collections  to  come  under  his  hammer — besides,  as  the 
demands  of  his  profession  would  not  permit  Mr.  Burton 
to  attend  in  person,  managing  his  bids  and  buying  for 
him  at  the  sales.  An  acquaintance  easily  grew  from  this 
connection,  and  a  friendship  later.  One  of  Mr.  Bur 
ton's  reciprocal  acts  of  kindness  was  to  place  our  family 
on  the  free  list  of  his  theatre,  and  the  many  hours  of 
delight  born  of  that  enviable  privilege  are  still  in  the 
keeping  of  memory.  Those  were  the  days  of  Captain 
Cuttle,  Paul  Pry,  A  minadab  Sleek,  Timothy  Toodlc,  Sir  Toby 
Belch,  Autolycus,  and  the  rest ;  the  days  of  Placide, 
Blake,  Brougham,  Lester,  George  Barrett,  T.  B.  John 
son,  Mrs.  Hughes,  Mary  Taylor,  and  a  host  of  others  ; 
and  the  present  writer  has  recorded  in  another  form  his 
recollections  of  nights  at  the  Chambers  Street  Theatre. 

The  design  of  forming  an  "  American  Shakespearean 
Club  "  was  conceived  at  this  time,  and  a  complimentary 
dinner  was  given  to  Mr.  Burton,  by  some  friends  and 
admirers,  on  the  23d  of  April,  1852,  when  an  organi- 


80  MEMOIR  OF 

zation  was  effected.  Mr.  Robert  Balmanno,  already 
mentioned  in  the  literary  group  sketched  by  Mr.  Mor- 
ford,  acted  as  secretary  on  the  occasion,  and  an  account 
of  the  festivity  was  written  by  him  and  published  in  the 
"  New  York  Evening  Mirror  "  of  April  26th.  As  Mr. 
Keese  warmly  espoused  the  cause,  and  was  chairman 
of  the  meeting,  I  quote  a  portion  of  Mr.  Balmanno's 
report : 

"  In  the  course  of  the  evening,  Mr.  Burton  exhibited 
to  the  company  a  most  gorgeous  Shakespearean  silver 
cup,  of  bounteous  capacity,  and  of  the  most  classic  shape 
and  proportions,  superbly  chased  with  some  of  the  most 
prominent  of  Shakespeare's  characters,  executed  from  a 
drawing  made  by  the  celebrated  Stothard.  This  con 
tained  another  cup  fashioned  from  the  wood  of  the  far- 
famed  mulberry -tree  which  was  planted  by  Shake 
speare's  own  hand  in  his  garden  at  Stratford-on-Avon — 
and  the  well-known  words  of  the  song  will  apply,  when 
Garrick  held  up  his  cup  at  the  Stratford  jubilee  : 

"  '  Behold  this  fair  goblet ; 

'Twas  carved  from  the  tree 
Which,  O  my  dear  Shakespeare, 
Was  planted  by  thee  ! '  " 

After  an  admirable  dinner,  the  most  important  busi 
ness  of  the  evening  was  entered  into  :  namely,  the  for 
mation  of  an  American  Shakespearean  Club  ;  and  an  ad 
mirable  letter  from  Washington  Irving  was  read,  with 
other  letters  and  papers.  Mr.  Irving,  it  seems,  had  been 
invited  to  fill  the  office  of  president ;  but  he  had  de- 


JOHN  KEESE.  8 1 

clined,  and  Mr.  Burton  was  proposed  and  unanimously 
elected. 

In  rising  to  propose  a  toast  in  honor  of  the  day,  Mr. 
Keese  said :  "  Gentlemen,  we  are  met  this  evening-  in  a 
social  and  informal  manner,  to  do  honor  to  the  nativity 
of  the  highest  literary  genius  the  world  has  ever  known. 
It  would  be  sheer  presumption  in  one  to  whom  your 
partial  kindness  has  dictated  his  present  position,  to  de 
scant  for  a  moment  upon  the  genius  whose  myriad-mind 
has  been  illustrated  by  the  greatest  men  that  have  come 
after  him ;  and  in  the  presence  of  the  truest  living  ex- 
emplifier  of  one  department  of  his  characters,  and  the 
severe  and  appreciating  students  of  his  works.  What 
could  I  say,  that  all  of  you  have  not  better  thought,  and 
much  better  said,  before  ?  It  is  a  great  day  that  we 
celebrate — the  greatest  in  the  intellectual  calendar  of 
time.  Is  it  not  one  that  will  ever  be  commemorated 
with  enthusiasm  ?  Yes  !  while  there  are  stars  in  heaven, 
or  an  Anglo-Saxon  upon  earth !  Gentlemen,  I  give  you — 
The  day  we  celebrate:  it  will  ever  be  a  celebrated  day." 

The  remarks  of  the  chair,  wrote  Mr.  Balmanno, 
introducing  the  toast  complimentary  to  Mr.  Burton, 
were  in  Mr.  Keese's  happiest  vein.  He  claimed  for  him 
a  combination  of  the  versatile  characteristics  of  four 
renowned  English  comedians — Emery,  Fawcett,  Mun- 
den,  and  Liston — and  most  felicitously  remarked,  that 
could  his  great  master,  Shakespeare,  have  witnessed 
Mr.  Burton's  inimitable  delineation  of  Polonius,  Touch 
stone,  and  Sir  Toby  Belch — his  incomparable  personation 
of  Autolycus  in  the  "  Winter's  Tale,"  and  even  that  of  the 
6 


82  MEMOIR  OF 

weird  sisters  in  "  Macbeth"-— he  would  have  hugged  him 
to  his  heart  with  the  same  burst  of  feeling  which  has 
been  transferred  from  the  lips  of  Shakespeare  to  the 
tomb  of  one  of  his  choicest  comrades,  and  truly  ex 
claimed— 

"  O  rare  Bill  Burton  !  " 

Here,  said  the  chronicler,  Mr.  Burton  rose;  no  longer 
the  irresistible  magician  who  sets  in  movement  evrrv 
mirthful  emotion  of  the  heart;  but  grave,  impressive, 
and  dignified  ;  and  in  a  brief  but  most  eloquent  speech 
expressed  as  well  in  manner  as  in  words  how  deeply 
he  felt  the  friendly  homage  by  which  he  was  sur 
rounded. 

The  association  so  auspiciously  begun  was  destined 
to  be  short-lived.  I  have  no  record  or  recollection  of 
any  of  its  subsequent  meetings ;  and  the  promise  that  it 
gave  of  establishing  in  New  York  an  institution  devoted 
to  noble  uses,  and  worthy  of  its  great  name,  was,  un 
happily,  not  fulfilled. 

Some  time  after  the  dinner  above  described,  Mr. 
Burton  gave  a  "Mulberry  Feast"  in  honor  of  Shake 
speare,  at  his  residence  at  Glen  Cove,  Long  Island. 
The  late  Lewis  Gaylord  Clark,  in  describing  the  occa 
sion,  in  his  "Editor's  Table"  in  the  "Knickerbocker," 
tells  the  following  story,  in  which  Mr.  Kerse  appears: 

"  At  this  festivity  the  late  Mr.  Balmanno,  the  kindly 
devotee  to  the  great  dramatist  and  the  whole  genial 
world  of  literature  and  art,  unwrapped  from  many  fold 
ings  of  tissue-paper  a  piece  of  bark,  taken  by  himself,  as 
he  asserted,  from  Ilernc's  oak  in  Windsor  Forest.  'You 


JOHN  KEESE.  83 

took  this  from  the  trunk  of  the  old  oak  itself,  did  you, 
Mr.  Balmanno  ? '  asked  Keese.  '  I  did,'  was  the  re 
sponse.  *  Ah  ! '  was  the  reply  of  his  questioner,  eying 
the  relic  with  affectionate  admiration,  but  thoughtfully, 
after  a  slight  pause — '  isn't  it  barely  possible,  Mr.  Bal 
manno,  that  you  may  have  been  barking  up  the  ivrong 
tree?'" 

The  following  lines  are  taken  from  a  local  poem 
written  for  a  literary  society  at  the  time  when  Burton's 
Theatre  was  deservedly  the  most  popular  place  of 
amusement  in  the  city  : 

"  The  drama  flourishes,  and  one  thing's  certain, 
Wealth,  taste,  and  beauty  throng  to  laugh  at  Burton. 
There  they  behold  great  Shakespeare's  finest  scholar, 
A  poet  and  a  wit,  for  half  a  dollar  ; 
There  Shakespeare,  Sheridan,  and  Colman,  meet, 
And  you  must  early  go  to  get  a  seat. 
Rare  son  of  Momus,  may  your  shadow  ne'er  be  less, 
And  we  not  die  from  laughing  to  excess  !  " 

Nor  did  he  forget  the  renowned  importer  of  Jumbo : 

"  The  Bearded  Lady,  with  her  whiskers  dark, 
Is  seen  each  day  at  Barnum's,  near  the  Park. 
Barnum  exhibits,  with  his  usual  taste, 
His  only  humbug  that  is  not  barefaced  ! " 

It  may  not  be  out  of  place  to  give  here  a  single  speci 
men  of  a  light  kind  of  verse-writing  ;  the  only  one  out 
of  many  that  chance  has  preserved.  The  lines  are  ad 
dressed 


84  MEMOIR  OF 

TO  A   DAUGHTER   OF   NEW   ENGLAND, 

On  the  receipt  of  a  Pumpkin-Pie  on   Thanksgiving-Day. 

THANKS,  lady,  thanks  ! — thy  hand  well  skilled 

To  touch  with  fairy  fingers 
The  harpsichord  with  music  filled, 

As  o'er  it  beauty  lingers — 

Didst  thou  descend  where  plate  and  platter 

In  goodly  order  stand, 
And  form  for  me  this  pretty  batter, 

This  gift  from  Yankee  land? 

Oh,  were  I  blest  with  wit  and  taste 

Well  seasoned  as  thy  pie, 
I  would  in  numbers  puff  thy  paste, 

Nor  make  a  tart  reply. 

Thou  modest  pumpkin  !  gentle  hands 
Did  pluck  thee  from  the  vine, 

And  made  thee  pride  of  Eastern  lands 
Whene'er  their  children  dine. 

And  though  thou  wert  of  modest  birth, 

Nay,  groveled  in  the  dirt, 
Yet  all  New  England  knows  thy  worth, 

And  owns  thy  rich  dessert! 

And  Pilgrim  daughters  on  this  isle, 
Where  squashes  most  abound, 

Will  greet  thy  presence  with  a  smile, 
When  Thanksgiving  rolls  around. 


JOHN  KEESE.  85 

Then,  lady,  will  my  prayers  ascend 

For  richest  gifts  on  thee  ; 
And  Heaven  will  bless  the  gentle  friend 

Who  shares  her  crust  with  me. 

And  though  I  fear  my  own  desert 

Will  ne'er  awarded  be, 
My  flattered  fancy  must  revert 

To  one  sweet  puff  from  thee. 

And  should  I  run  the  race  of  fame, 

I'll  feel  with  joy  elate 
That  no  dishonor  clouds  his  name 

Who's  won  a  lady's  plate  ! 

A  passing  allusion  to  Mr.  Burton's  library  has  been 
made  in  these  pages ;  but  a  more  extended  reference  to 
it  can  not  fail,  I  think,  to  interest  my  readers.  Let  me 
recall  the  evening  when  it  was  my  privilege  to  stand 
within  those  walls,  sacred  to  the  glorious  and  immortal 
in  literature,  and  adorned  with  inestimable  treasures  of 
art.  It  was  an  evening  when  Mr.  Burton  had  gathered 
about  him  a  band  of  friends,  and  the  writer  accompanied 
his  father,  who  was  one  of  that  chosen  circle.  With 
what  trembling  awe  I  found  myself  in  the  presence  of 
the  elder  Wallack,  his  son,  Mr.  Lester,  Henry  Placide, 
George  Barrett,  Dion  Boucicault,  and  the  great  come 
dian  himself !  That  indefinable  sensation — which  I  sup 
pose  every  youth  experiences  when  finding  himself  in 
the  company  of  actors  off  the  stage — possessed  me  as  I 
furtively  gazed  upon  those  faces  I  had  never  before  seen 


86  MEMOIR  OF 

this  side  of  the  foot-lights;  and  as  I  looked  at  Mr.  Wai- 
lack  I  thought  of  Erasmus  Bookworm  and  Dick  Das/tall ; 
the  agreeable  presence  of  Mr.  Lester  evoked  the  images 
ol  I  \-rcy  Ardent  and  Harry  Dornton  ;  I  expected  to  hear 
the  voice  of  Colonel  Hardy  when  Mr.  Placide  spoke  ;  in 
the  tall  person  of  Mr.  Barrett  I  saw  the  boastful  bearing 
of  Bobadil ;  and  in  the  host  himself  was  reflected  an 
entire  gallery.  But,  really,  there  was  nothing  of  the 
kind.  They  were  so  many  gentlemen  gathered  beneath 
Mr.  Burton's  roof,  enjoying  his  hospitality,  and  acting 
simply  their  natural  parts.  The  profession  was  dis 
missed.  Like  a  man's  business,  it  was  over  for  the  day. 
Yet,  at  supper,  the  qualities  that  so  often  shone  on  the 
mimic  scene  came  into  play,  and  lent  to  conversation 
vivacious  flow  and  sparkle.  "  The  flash  of  wit — the 
bright  intelligence  " — gleamed  about  the  board,  every 
where  finding  an  answering  spirit,  and  prolific  in  enter 
taining  contribution.  A  topic  launched  by  Mr.  Barrett, 
Mr.  Wallack  would  gayly  seize  and  build  upon;  Mr. 
Lester  would  then  playfully  and  characteristically  para 
phrase  it ;  Mr.  Placide  would  in  turn  secure  it  and  aug 
ment  it  felicitously — and  so  on ;  until  finally  it  was 
received  by  Mr.  Burton,  to  be  amplified  with  infinite 
relish. 

But  a  greater  treat  was  in  store.  Supper  ended,  we 
were  invited  to  the  library. 

This  structure  was  a  building  by  itself,  and  was  con 
nected  with  the  residence  by  a  conservatory  gallery, 
through  which  the  company  passed.  The  principal  li 
brary-room  was  on  the  upper  floor,  with  lofty,  ornament- 


JOHN  KEESE.  87 

ed  ceiling,  in  the  center  of  which  rose  a  dome  skylight 
of  stained  glass.  We  saw  the  bookcases,  upward  of  nine 
feet  high,  lining  the  sides  of  the  room,  in  whose  oaken 
recesses  reposed  over  sixteen  thousand  volumes !  Mas 
terpieces  of  painting  hung  in  the  space  between  the 
cases  and  the  ceiling,  and  wherever  our  eyes  turned 
they  were  held  by  some  object  of  artistic  design,  his 
toric  interest,  or  haunting  beauty.  Mailed  effigies  in 
niche  and  compartment  embalmed  the  stern  glory  of  the 
middle  ages ;  the  divine  wonder  in  the  eyes  of  Mary  in 
"  The  Nativity  "  looked  forth  from  the  canvas  of  Mu- 
rillo ;  and  the  spirit  of  Shakespeare  held  sceptered  sway, 
breathing  from  sculptured  image,  bust,  and  cenotaph, 
and  many  a  priceless  relic.  We  gazed  upon  an  eques 
trian  picture  of  Queen  Victoria — the  Queen  painted  by 
Count  d'Orsay,  the  horse  by  Landseer — which  picture 
now  adorns  the  wall  of  the  Conservative  Club  in  London. 
The  Murillo,  I  may  note,  became  the  property  of  the 
Peruvian  Minister  to  England,  who  considered  it  of  fab 
ulous  value. 

In  a  prominent  niche  stood  a  full-length  statue  of 
Shakespeare,  executed  by  Thorn,  the  Scotch  sculptor; 
and  on  another  side  of  the  library,  on  a  bracket  of  the 
Elizabethan  age,  was  placed  the  Stratford  bust — bracket 
and  bust  both  obtained  by  Mr.  Burton  at  the  sale  of  the 
effects  of  the  celebrated  antiquary,  Mr.  Cottingham,  and 
no  other  copy  of  them,  it  was  said,  existed.  There  was 
a  curious  cup,  found  in  Shakespeare's  garden  ;  a  beauti 
fully  carved  tea-caddy,  made  from  the  wood  of  Shake 
speare's  mulberry-tree,  once  the  property  of  Garrick  ;  a 


88  MEMOIR  OF 

small  statue  of  Shakespeare  in  china,  remarkable  for 
being  the  first  specimen  of  that  ware  executed  at  Chel 
sea  in  England,  and  historic,  like  the  tea-caddy,  in  that 
it  also  was  formerly  Garrick's ;  two  drinking-cups  with 
silver  rims,  said  to  be  "  made  of  the  wood  of  a  crab-tree 
under  which  Shakespeare  slept  during  his  celebrated 
frolic,  formerly  in  the  possession  of  Betterton."  Out 
side  the  library,  in  a  place  prepared  for  it,  stood  the 
statue  of  Shakespeare  in  wood,  a  relic  of  the  old  Park 
Theatre.  Among  other  relics  not  pertaining  to  Shake 
speare,  but  of  equal  historic  interest,  were  the  gold  watch 
presented  by  Napoleon  to  Talma,  the  tragedian,  with 
an  interior  inscription ;  Washington's  own  repeating 
watch  ;  and  many  other  interesting  mementos. 

It  is  not  my  intention,  even  were  it  possible,  to  at 
tempt  any  description  of  the  many  rare  and  valuable 
books  that  were  embraced  in  Mr.  Burton's  superb  col 
lection.  Too  young  to  have  any  comprehension  what 
ever  of  those  thousands  of  volumes  of  precious  literature, 
I  can  only  record  my  condition  of  simple  wonderment  as 
I  stood  and  gazed  around  me.  That  matchless  library 
was  sold  at  auction  after  the  owner's  death,  and  suffered, 
I  believe,  general  dispersion.  1  know,  however,  that  ev 
ery  department  of  literature,  exclusive  of  the  Shakespear 
ean  collection,  was  represented,  and  comprised  works 
of  acknowledged  bibliographical  eminence,  many  being 
unique  in  importance  and  value.* 


*  A  detailed  description  of  Mr.  Burton's  library  will  he  found  in  an  ac 
count  of"  Private  Libraries  in  New  York,"  by  James  Wynne,  M.  D.,  pub 
lished  by  E.  French,  New  York,  1860. 


JOHN  KEESE.  89 

I  have  often  wondered  why  my  father,  with  his 
many  opportunities,  never  amassed  a  library.  Perhaps 
it  was  owing  to  the  fact  that  his  business  was  books,  and, 
being  constantly  in  the  midst  of  them,  there  was  no 
incitement  to  pursuit  and  possession.  A  collection  of 
books  at  home  might  have  seemed  to  him,  indeed,  some 
thing  like  a  transplantation  of  his  business.  But,  at  all 
events,  he  gave  no  sign  of  a  collector's  itching  palm,  nor 
of  anything  that  betokened  a  leaning  toward  bibliomania. 
He  would  bring  books  home  to  read  and  to  show  us,  and 
would  then  take  them  away ;  they  were  not  so  many  add 
ing  prizes  to  groaning  shelves.  Not  but  that  all  our  liter 
ary  needs  were  more  than  supplied  ;  but  he  did  not  share 
Henry  Ward  Beecher's  feeling  that  there  is  no  pleasure 
so  great  as  that  of  buying  a  book  you  can  not  afford  to 
pay  for.  He  could  not  say  with  Prosper o,  "  My  library 
was  dukedom  large  enough." 

The  dissolution  of  the  firm  of  Cooley  &  Keese  in 
1854,  as  previously  stated,  compelled  my  father  to  seek 
a  new  position,  and  he  obtained  the  appointment  of  Ap 
praiser  of  Books  in  the  New  York  Custom-House,  a 
post  he  was  well  qualified  to  fill.  So  long  as  his  health 
permitted,  he  still  occupied  the  auctioneer's  pulpit  at 
the  evening  sales  of  the  firm's  successors ;  but  the  exer 
tion  was  always  followed  by  sore  aggravation  of  his 
bronchial  trouble,  and  at  length  it  became  evident  that 
his  selling-days  were  over.  He  confined  himself  then  to 
his  duties  as  appraiser,  and  felt  hopeful  that  with  care 
his  season  of  usefulness  might  be  prolonged.  But  it  was 
not  to  be.  His  voice  rapidly  failed,  until  it  fell  to  almost 


90  MEMOIR  OF 

a  whisper.  Yet  his  bright  spirit  still  watched  the  cita 
del.  In  so  dark  an  hour,  Chief-Justice  Daly,  meeting 
him  at  his  labor,  inquired  respecting  his  health.  "  Fail 
ing,  failing — in  a  place  where  everything  is  invoiced  ex 
cept  myself." 

He  grew  weaker  and  weaker,  and  finally  was  unable 
to  leave  his  room.  In  the  afternoon  of  May  30,  1856, 
his  brother  brought  from  the  Custom-House  a  document 
requiring  his  signature,  and  he  wrote  his  name  with  a 
firm  hand.  A  few  hours  afterward  he  was  no  more.  A 
sudden  haemorrhage  was  the  immediate  cause  of  death  ; 
and  with  the  shadows  of  evening  came  the  deeper  shad 
ow  of  bereavement. 

So  passed  away  a  man  who  thirty  years  ago  enjoyed 
a  reputation  almost  unique  in  the  city  that  gave  him 
birth.  With  respect  to  natural  gifts  and  certain  predom 
inating  qualities,  it  seems  to  have  been  generally  ac 
knowledged  that  no  successor  in  the  auction-room  has 
suggested  a  comparison.  His  career  was  marked  by  ac 
tivity  and  enterprise,  and  in  the  performance  of  his  du 
ties  he  exhibited  zeal,  method,  and  comprehension.  His 
physical  endurance  was  remarkable,  and  he  shrank  from 
no  labor,  however  fatiguing  or  incessant.  It  was  no 
unusual  thing,  during  the  trade-sales,  to  see  him  go  on 
selling  day  after  day,  as  fresh  and  sparkling  as  if  he  had 
just  come  on  the  stand.  An  endeavor  to  depict  him  in 
the  scenes  of  his  busy  life  has  been  made  in  the  preced 
ing  pages,  and  I  trust  not  wholly  in  vain.  Allusion  has 
been  made  to  his  conversational  and  entertaining  pow- 


JOHN  KEESE.  gi 

ers,  and  his  name  may  be  recalled  by  readers  of  this  mem 
oir  who  remember  him  in  the  social  circle.  It  remains 
to  be  said  that  he  was  kind  and  loving  in  his  family  rela 
tions,  and  that  his  home  was  everything  to  him.  He  was 
generous  to  a  fault,  and  ever  ready  to  respond  to 
friendship's  call.  His  motto  might  be  given  in  the 
words  of  Shakespeare : 

"  I  count  myself  in  nothing  else  so  happy, 
As  in  a  soul  remembering  my  good  friends." 


INDEX. 


Allston,  Washington,  33,  note. 
"  American  Shakespearean  Club,"  79. 
"Ancient  Mariner,  The,"  15,  note. 
"Attic  Club,  The,"  12,  note. 
"Auctioneer,   The,"  quotation  from, 
66. 

Balmanno,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  sketch  of, 

47- 

Balmanno,  Robert,  80,  81,  82,  83. 
Barker,  J.  N.,  33,  note. 
Barlow,  Joel,  64. 
Barrett,  George,  79,  85,  86. 
Beecher,  Henry  W.,  89. 
Biddle,  Nicholas,  24. 
Bigelow,  John,  12,  note. 
Bird,  R.  M.,  33,  note. 
Blake,  William  E.,  79. 
Boucicault,  Dion,  85. 
Bradley,  Alice,  56. 
Brooks,  J.  G.,  33,  note. 
Brougham,  John,  79. 
Bryant,  William  Cullen,  2O,   31,  33, 

note. 

Burr,  S.  J.,  33,  note. 
Burton,  William  E.,  30  ;  story  of,  73  ; 

mention,  79,  80,  81,  82,  85,  86,  87, 

88. 

Burton's  Theatre,  83. 
Butler,  George  B.,  12,  note. 

Canfield,  Rev.  Dr.,  10. 
Chapman,  J.  G.,  21. 
Cheever,  George  B.,  31. 
Choate,  Rufus,  oration  of,  13. 
"  Christabel,"  15,  note. 
Cincinnati,  Society  of  the,  7. 
Clark,  Lewis  G.,  21,  24,  82. 
Clark,  Willis  G.,  33,  note. 
Clarke,  Dr.  Alonzo,  12,  note. 


Collins  &  Hannay,  8. 

Collins,  Keese  &  Co.,  9,  20. 

Colman,  Samuel,  33,  note. 

"  Column  Club,    The,"   account   of, 

n,  note. 

Cooley,  James  E.,  9. 
Cooley  &  Keese,  9,  60,  73,  79. 
Cooley,  Keese  &  Hill,  9,  59. 
Cooper,  J.  Fenimore,  21,  24. 
Cornwall,  Barry,  40. 
Cutter,  W.,  33,  note. 

Dana,  R.  H.,  33,  note. 
Daponte,  C.  E.,  33,  note. 
Davidson,  L.  M.,  33,  note. 
Davis,  Matthew  L.,  22,  23. 
Dawes,  R.,  33,  note. 
Dearborn,  George,  20. 
Dewey,  Rev.  Orville,  20. 
Dinnies,  A.  P.,  33,  note. 
Doane,  G.  W.,  33,  note. 
Drake,  J.  Rodman,  22,  33,  note. 
Duyckinck,  Evert  A.,  preface,  36,  62, 
67. 

"  Early  Called,  The,"  35,  note. 

Ellet,  E.  F.,  33,  note. 

Embury,  Daniel,  49. 

Embury,  Emma  C.,  33,  note  ;  sketch 

of,  48. 

Emery,  John,  81. 
Evarts,  William  M.,  12,  note. 
Everett,  Edward,  24,  33,  note. 

Father  Prout  (Francis  Mahony),  55. 
Fawcett,  John,  81. 
Fay,  Theodore  S.,  34,  note. 
Felt,  David,  20. 

Fields,  James  T.,  30  ;  verse  by,  67 ; 
mention,  77,  78. 


94 


INDEX. 


Fish,  Hamilton,  12,  note. 

"  Floral  Keepsake,  The,"  36. 

"  Forest  Legendary,  The,"  36. 

Forney,  John  W.,  17. 

Forrest,  Edwin,  recitation  by,  17. 

Francis,  John  W.,  21,  23,  24. 

Gallatin,  Albert,  20. 
Oilman,  Caroline,  34,  note. 
Godwin,  Parke,  12,  note. 
Gould,  H.  F.,  34,  note. 
Gourlie,  John,  12,  note. 
Gowans,  William,  68. 
Gray,  Harrison,  21,  22. 
Griswold,   Rufus  W.,  sketch   of,  50- 
52. 

Hale,  Sarah  J.,  34,  note. 

Halleck,  Fitz-Greene,  20,  21,  24,  34, 

note,  38. 

Harper,  Fletcher,  20,  25. 
Harper,  James,  21,  22  ;  speech  of, 

23- 

14  Harper's  Magazine,"  30,  note. 
Haven,  Alice  B.,  56. 
Hayne,  Paul  H.,  50. 
Hill,  Horatio,  9. 
Hillhouse,  J.  A.,  34,  note. 
Hoffman,  Charles  Fenno,   34,  note, 

38  ;  sketch  of,  42,  43  ;  mention,  57, 

58,  note,  59. 

Hoffman,  George  IT.,  12,  note. 
Holmes,  Oliver  W.,  34,  note,  40,  77. 
Hone,  Philip,  21,  23. 
Hood,  Thomas,  40,  61. 
Hook,  Theodore  E.,  40. 
Hooper,  Lucy,  "  Poetical  Remains " 

of,  33- 
H«.-mcr,   William   II.  C.,  sketch  of, 

53,  58. 

Hughes,  Mrs.,  79. 
Huntington,  Daniel,  52,  56. 
Hutton,  Laurence,  story  told  by,  28. 

"  Idiot  Boy,  The,"  poem,  16-20. 

"  Influence  of  Knowledge,  The  "  (lec 
ture),  3". 

Inman,  Henry,  21  ;  sketch  of,  56. 

Inman,  Mary,  sketch  of,  56. 

Irving,  Washington,  2O,  21,  23,  24, 
34,  note,  40,  80. 

Johnston,  T.  B.,  79. 
Kane,  Elisha  Kent,  56. 


Kean,  Edmund,  27,  28. 
Keese,  Edmund  Willets,  10. 
Keese,    John    (grandfather   of    sub 
ject),  7. 

Keese,  John,  preface,  birth,  and  par 
entage,  7. 

his  grandfathers,  7. 
education  for  the  ministry,  8. 
beginning   his    business    career, 

8,9- 

marriage  and  family,  9. 

self-cultivation,  10,  II. 

joins  "  The  Column  Club,"  n. 

love  of  oratory,  Brougham, 
Choate,  etc.,  13. 

Dr.  Nott's  addresses,  14. 

Kossuth's  speeches,  15. 

poetical  recitation,  15. 

improvisation  and  reading,  15, 
note. 

"  The  Prisoner  of  Chillon,"  16. 

"  The  Idiot  Boy  "  ;  Forney  and 
Forrest,  16-20. 

Booksellers'  dinner,  speech  there 
at,  20-25,  ft  seq. 

a  genuine  Gothamite,  26. 

extract  from  local  poem,  26,  27. 

passion  for  the  drama  ;  imitations 
of  actors,  27. 

auction-room  story,  28. 

private  theatricals;"  The  Rivals," 
29,  30,  ft  seq. 

editorship  ;  "  The  Poets  of  Amer 
ica,"  etc.,  etc.,  31-36,  ft  seq. 

"  The  Influence  of  Knowledge" 
(lecture),  36. 

his  literary  capabilities  ;  produc 
tions,  37. 

residence  in  Atlantic  Street,  38. 

A  literary  group,  39-57. 

pen-portrait  of,  41,  ft  seq. 

fate  of  Atlantic-Street  house,  57, 
et  seq. 

becomes  auctioneer,  59. 

qualities  as  auctioneer,  60-63. 

wit    of    the    auction-room,    63- 

73- 

value  as  an  auctioneer,  74. 
encomium  in  New  York    paper, 

74-77- 

out-of-town  visits,  77,  et  seq. 
story  of  Philadelphia  auctioneer, 

78. 
acquaintance  with  W.  E.  Burton, 

79- 


INDEX. 


95 


Keese,  John,  presides  at  meeting  of 

Shakespeare  Club,  80. 
speeches  thereat,  81,  82. 
story  of,  at  "Mulberry  Feast," 

82,  83. 

extract  from  local  poem,  83. 
poem  "  To  a  Daughter  of  New 

England,"  84. 
Visit    to    Mr.  Burton's    library, 

85-88. 

appointed  appraiser  of  books,  89. 
illness  and  death,  90. 
conclusion,  90. 
"  Keese,  John  ;   his  Intimates,"  etc., 

preface,  39. 
Keese,  Jonathan  Lawrence,  9,  9,  note, 

41. 

Keese,  Willets,  9,  41. 
Keese,  William,  7. 
Keese,  Wm.  Linn,  ist,  8. 
Keese,  Wm.  Linn,  2d,  41. 
Kemble,  Miss,  28. 
Kent,  James,  7,  20,  21,  23. 

Kettell, ,  31- 

King,  Charles,  21,  22. 
Kossuth,  Louis,  speeches  of,  15. 

Lamb,  Charles,  40. 

Lawrence,  Jonathan,  Jr.,  34,  note. 

Leggett,  W".,  34. 

Lester,  J.  W.,  79,  85,  86. 

Lewis,  Estelle  Anna,  56. 

Linen,  James,  66. 

Linn,  Rebecca,  7. 

Linn,  Rev.  William,  7. 

Listen,  John,  81. 

Locke,  Richard  A.,  21. 

Longfellow,  Henry  W.,  15,  note,  33, 

34,  note,  40,  77. 
Lowell,  J.  Russell,  40. 
Lyell,  Rev.  Dr.,  12,  note. 

Macaulay,  T.  B.,  40. 

"  Major  Jack  Downing,"  35,  44,  45. 

Mellen,  G.,  34,  note. 

Mitchell,  J.  K.,  34,  note. 

Mitchell,  William,  31. 

M'Lellan,  I.,  Jr.,  34,  note. 

Moore,  Clement  C.,  34,  note. 

Morford,  Henry,  preface,  15,  38,  39, 
80. 

"  Morford's  Magazine,"  39. 

Morris,  George  P.,  21,  31  ;  auction- 
room  story,  65,  66. 

"  Mourner's  Chaplet,  The,"  35. 


"  Mulberry  Feast  "  (story),  82. 
Munden,  Joseph  S.,  81. 

Nathan,  Jonathan,  12. 

Neal,  John,  34,  note,  35. 

Neal,  Joseph  C.,  56. 

Noah,  Major,  21,  22. 

"  North  American  Scenery,"  36. 

Norton,  A.,  34,  note. 

Nott,  Dr.,  address  of,  14. 

Oakes-Smith,  Elizabeth,  34,  35,  58. 
"  Opal,  The,"  36. 
Osgood,  Frances  Sargent,  47. 
"  Our  Poets  Forty-three  Years  ago," 
33,  note. 

Paulding,  James  K.,  20,  23,  34,  note. 

Peabody,  W.  O.  B.,  34,  note. 

Percival,  James  G.,  34,  note. 

Pickering,  H.,  34,  note. 

Pierpont,  John,  34,  note. 

Pinkney,  E.  C.,  34,  note. 

Placide,  Henry,  30,  74,  79,  85,  86. 

Poe,  Edgar  A.,  21,  24,  31. 

"  Poets  of  America,  The,"  22,  note,  31, 

32,  33,  note. 

Prentice,  George  D.,  34,  note. 
"  Prisoner  of  Chillon,  The,"  15. 
Pritchard,  William  M.,  12,  note. 
"  Private  Libraries  in  New  York,"  88, 

note. 
Putnam,  George  P.,  21,  25. 

Read,  Thomas  Buchanan,  sketch  of, 

55.  56. 

"  Rivals,  The,"  performance  of,  29. 
Robertson,  Anthony,  12. 
Robins,  George,  60,  61. 
Rockwell,  J.  O.,  34,  note. 
Rogers,  Samuel,  letter  of,  24,  40. 
"  Rosalie  Clare  "  (song),  57. 

Sabin,  Joseph,  62,  note. 

Sands,  R.  C.,  34,  note. 

Sargent,  Epes,  34,  note. 

Schell,  Augustus,  12,  12,  note. 

Sigourney,  L.  H.,  34,  note. 

Simms,  William  G.,  34,  note  ;   sketch 

of,  49,  50. 

"  Skeleton  in  Armor,  The,"  15,  note. 
Smith,  L.  P.,  34,  note. 
Smith,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Seba,  sketch  of, 

44-47. 
Smith,  Sydney,  26. 


96 


INDEX. 


Sprague,  Charles,  34,  note. 
Stace,  Marv  Leighton,  54. 
Stone,  William  L.,  21,  22. 
Street,  A.  B.,  34,  note. 
Strong,  Oliver,  12. 
Sutermeister,  J.  R.,  34,  note. 

Taylor,  Mary,  31,  79. 

Thackeray,  W.  M.,  40. 

"  Then,"  30,  note. 

Thorpe,  Thomas  B.,  56. 

Timrod,  W.  H.,  34,  note. 

Trumbull,  Colonel,  20. 

Tuckerman,  Henry  T.,  34,  note,  35 
note,  38  ;  sketch  of,  43,  44  ;  men 
tion,  58,  59. 

Van  Winkle,  E.  S.,  12,  note. 
Verplanck,  Gulian  C.,  24. 


Wallack,  James,  85,  86. 

\Vc-l >ster,  Daniel,  24. 

Webster,  Noah,  24. 

Wells,  A.  M.,  34,  note. 

White,  Richard  Grant,  sketch  of,  53 

54  ;  mention,  58  ;  story  told  by,  67* 

68. 

Whittier,  John  G.,  34,  34,  note. 
Wilcox,  C.,  34,  note. 
Wilde,  R.  H.,  34,  note. 
Willets,  Elizabeth,  9. 
Willets,  Zebulon  S.,  9. 
Willis,  N.  P.,  24,  34,  note ;  sketch  of, 

54,  55- 

"  Wintergreeo,  The,"  36. 
Woodworth,  Samuel,  34,  note. 

"  Yesterdays  with  Authors,"  78,  note. 


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